


the price we pay

by elliebell (Naladot)



Category: Day6 (Band), GOT7
Genre: Canon Universe, Cheating, Dating, Day6 Ensemble, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Got7 Ensemble - Freeform, Infidelity, Internal Conflict, JYP Nation, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Some Humor, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-14 01:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naladot/pseuds/elliebell
Summary: People say you shouldn't date your co-workers, but in the industry, it's hard for all your relationships not to get muddled up together. For Jinyoung, there's Wonpil—Kpop's perfect friends-to-lovers dream couple, if it weren't for the whole part where Jinyoung cheated. He's older and wiser now, and he's not going to mess up a good thing. Except there's a big gap between who Jinyoung really is, and who he pretends to be.





	1. i've been doing just fine

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this fic doesn't make any claims about what the people it's based on are like in reality. It's just fiction.

* * *

 

I.

It’s a Monday when Jinyoung goes over to Wonpil’s new dorm—a nondescript, unscheduled Monday, sunny but a little chilly, just the early suggestion of crisp autumn air. Jinyoung takes the subway, evading detection with a white medical mask and a baseball cap and the unfortunate indifference of the general public towards boy bands. As the train sways between stops, the BTS members stare down at him from a poster above the handle bars, photoshopped to the point that they are nearly unrecognizable. It’s a weird feeling, trying to match up the faces he knows with the faces on the poster. Even so, he suspects none of them could take the subway unnoticed. 

 

It’s a weird feeling, the stab of jealousy in his stomach.

 

He exits the subway to the sound of a Twice song washing across the turnstiles from a nearby shop—a little late in the season for a summer song, but the girls’ next round of promotions will start soon anyway—and it fades as he climbs the steps and emerges on the sidewalk. He stops at a coffee shop, orders the sugary latte Wonpil likes and a black coffee for himself. The girl at the cash register eyes him uncertainly. Jinyoung looks at his phone.

 

_ Call me when you’re here ^3^ _

 

Jinyoung slips his phone into his pocket and takes the coffees. “Thank you,” he tells the girl. He waits a beat while she blushes. Smiles. It feels like a performance—not in a bad way, just in a  _ way _ , and she ducks her head and smiles in response. Right on cue.

 

The dorm waits a few blocks away, on a quiet sun-soaked alley. Two guys loiter outside a small training gym, smoking cigarettes and laughing. A grandpa walks along the road, elbows pumping. A little girl fusses loudly at her dog. It’s the right kind of neighborhood for a Day6 dorm, somewhere for Dowoon to annoy the hell out of the neighbors and Sungjin to smooth things over later. Jinyoung likes it and he hates it; the second feeling he doesn’t understand and has chosen not to examine. He pulls out his phone and calls Wonpil.

 

It only takes a minute for Wonpil to appear at the door to his building, his smile wide and unguarded. Jinyoung glances behind him, just a glance to make sure no one is looking. Then he steps inside the stairwell, hands Wonpil the coffee, and pecks a kiss on his lips.

 

Wonpil flushes a shade of deep pink and his eyes drift to the door. “I thought you said there were fans—”

 

“They left,” Jinyoung interrupts. “Before I left the house. They were just hopeful, not crazy.”

 

Wonpil nods, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s like he’s suddenly absent, regular Wonpil replaced by robot Wonpil. Jinyoung  _ hates _ robot Wonpil, even if he knows robot Wonpil is a defense mechanism. The trouble is, it’s a defense mechanism developed to defend against  _ Jinyoung _ , and absolutely nothing Jinyoung does can seem to deactivate it.

 

“Let’s go upstairs,” Jinyoung tries.

 

Wonpil seems to come back to himself. He looks up and smiles widely again, taking Jinyoung by the hand. “It’s really nice,” he says. He takes the stairs two at a time, in bounding leaps, dragging Jinyoung along behind him. “Manager-hyung is gone, and Sungjin is too, so you don’t need to—” He pauses and trips a little over a step. “You know. Worry.”

 

Jinyoung doesn’t get a chance to say anything, because they’ve arrived at the front door and Wonpil throws open the door and leaps inside, cheerleader-style, spinning around with a radiant smile. “Welcome to my home!” he half-sings.

 

Jinyoung grins in spite of himself. Maybe Wonpil really will break the shell of Jinyoung’s icy, prematurely hardened heart, after all.

 

“Looks good,” he says, stepping inside and slipping off his shoes. “Wood detailing, and you actually have a shoe cabinet now—Sungjin’s idea?”

 

“Mine, actually.” Wonpil is practically humming with pride. He tugs on Jinyoung’s arm as soon as his shoes are off. Anyone who didn’t know them would assume Jinyoung was the older one, if they walked in on Wonpil chattering about the TV set-up and the kitchen table from Ikea which Jae says he built but actually Brian did most of it, and manager-hyung actually made soup if Jinyoung wants some and did he see the exercise ball yet? With that Wonpil rolls, stomach first, across the exercise ball, ending in a spectacular somersault and jumping up. “My room is here,” he gestures, and runs inside.

 

Jinyoung follows. The apartment is too quiet, and all the doors are closed, which tells him that the others are either still sleeping or weren’t expecting a visitor.  _ Sungjin is gone, _ Wonpil’s voice repeats in Jinyoung’s head. What the hell is he supposed to be worried about, anyway?

 

Jinyoung closes Wonpil’s door quietly behind him. Because there’s an answer to that question. There’s plenty to be worried about.

 

“Ta-da!” Wonpil says as soon as the door clicks closed. His room is decorated simply, its most prominent feature a giant computer with half a dozen attachments for composing music at home. It’s neat, with the bed made, either to impress Jinyoung or because Wonpil had to room with Sungjin for too damn long.

 

“It’s really nice,” Jinyoung says, and means it. Wonpil falls backward onto the bed.

 

“My own room,” he sighs.

 

“You’re too old to be so happy with something you should’ve gotten years ago,” Jinyoung smiles. He pads across the floor in his sock-feet and sits gingerly next to Wonpil, trying not to upset the balance. A metaphor for so many things between them, lately. Too many things.

 

“What about you?” Wonpil asks, but he’s not really asking. He’s too happy for that, as absent in his happiness as robot-Wonpil is in his hurt.

 

Jinyoung’s eyes drift along the wall he hadn’t been able to see from his vantage point by the door. All of Day6’s album posters line the wall, large and unframed, but Jinyoung is scanning for something else. He finds it in a corner—a Got7 album poster, one he’d signed himself, the first time they dated.

 

Wonpil’s fingers ghost along the smooth underside of Jinyoung’s arm. He decides to pretend he wasn’t looking, but when he meets Wonpil’s eyes, he can tell he already noticed.

 

“Don’t do that,” Wonpil says. His fingertips press into Jinyoung’s arm.

 

“Do what?”

 

“We’re fine.” Wonpil sits up, turning to face Jinyoung. His hand slides from Jinyoung’s arm to his palm and their fingers weave together, a gesture at once familiar and uncomfortable. “We’re fine.”

 

He says it like he’s trying to convince him. Maybe he’s trying to convince himself.

 

“I know,” Jinyoung says. He clears his throat, tries again. “I know.”

 

Wonpil’s eyebrows lift a little; his grip grows tighter. “So, why—”

 

But he doesn’t get the chance to finish his question. The door suddenly swings open.

 

“Wonpil, I made some—oh.”

 

Dowoon freezes in his tracks, jaw hanging open in a small O. His eyes snap to Jinyoung and Wonpil’s clasped hands, like this is a comedic scene in a move. Cue the laugh track.

 

“I made some food,” Dowoon continues. He turns his gaze to somewhere over Wonpil’s right shoulder and addresses the air. Jinyoung wants to move, but he seems to be frozen, too. “You can—I mean, you both can—come have some, if you want. Right. Okay.” He turns to leave the room, then stops, turns on his heels, and faces Jinyoung. “Hello, hyung,” he says with a bow. Without making eye contact, he leaves the room.

 

When the door is closed, they sit in silence. Jinyoung looks at Wonpil. Wonpil looks at the floor.

 

“Well, now everyone will know.” Wonpil disentangles his hand and leans back on his elbows, frowning up at the ceiling and disappearing within himself again.

 

“You know,” Jinyoung says. “This.  _ This  _ is why.”

 

Wonpil looks at him, and Jinyoung can tell that at least they understand each other—there’s some common ground about wanting to keep what’s between them secret, and  _ why _ it should be, and why it’s just so damn hard to move forward when they always seem to be rowing against the current.

 

Wonpil sighs. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, like he thought the better of what he was going to say. Jinyoung can imagine it would have gone something like:  _ and whose fault is that? _

 

(It’s Jinyoung’s. It’s all Jinyoung’s fault.)

 

Wonpil sits up. The childlike, vibrant energy is gone, replaced by a hard set to his jaw and something dark in his eyes that makes Jinyoung’s heart thump uncomfortably in his chest. Wonpil is just so  _ determined _ in his love, and there’s always—always—the voice in the back of Jinyoung’s head reminding him,  _ you’re not good enough for this. _

 

Wonpil moves closer and rests his cheek against Jinyoung’s shoulder. “We’re going to be fine,” he says.

 

Jinyoung notes the future tense. He considers it, the acknowledgment that things really aren’t fine—but he wants to believe Wonpil. Chooses to believe Wonpil.

 

“It’s okay if everyone knows,” he says. He fixes a smile and leans forward, twisting his neck to get a look at Wonpil. “We’ve started over, brand new. Why shouldn’t they know?”

 

Wonpil smiles. And for the first time since this whole thing between them started up again, he actually initiates a kiss. His movements are tentative but he doesn’t stop or recoil or disappear into himself.

 

Jinyoung decides this counts for something.

  
  
  
  


 

The first time they dated—a few years ago, now, though Jinyoung still thinks it feels recent, maybe because everything has been off-balance since then—their relationship took him by surprise. Wonpil was his trainee friend, his work friend, his  _ best _ friend, one of the few people he really and truly missed when schedules made him so busy he hardly had time to sleep. But the relationship had never really had a romantic edge to it. Oh, they’d kissed once or twice as trainees—unanswered questions, a vague suggestion of what’s-this-like or the desire to “practice” for romance the way they did for everything else. But it just wasn’t like that.

 

Maybe it was because, as trainees, they were all dumped into the pool together. Sometimes Jinyoung can’t remember what it felt like when it was  _ all  _ of them, a mass of trainees dancing and singing together. The twelve of them, others who left, all of them wide-eyed and eager for a shot at fame. Then JJ Project debuted and Jinyoung was thrust out into the limelight for just a taste of the very adoration he craved. Then shunted back into the trainee pool. He cried once, just once, on Wonpil’s shoulder, at the end of a long rant that he finished with, “And Jaebum-hyung is just so  _ mean. _ ” Not one of his finest moments.

 

Eventually there was Got7, and then there was 5Live and finally Day6, and the trainee pool that was just “us” suddenly became “us and them.” Got7 as the us, Day6 as the them—a beloved  _ them _ , but more like cousins than brothers. A strange shift. But Jinyoung has a feeling that this is the only way he could have ever considered Wonpil as more than just his work friend or his best friend. Jinyoung had his band, Wonpil had his—their circles had shifted. They didn’t rely on each other the way they used to, which freed up Jinyoung’s mind for Wonpil’s pitch-perfect love confession.

 

It happened like this: Wonpil took him to a coffee shop one rainy evening. A new, out-of-the-way place with tables shoved into odd corners. Tucked in the back of an upstairs room, Wonpil gripped a cup of tea and said, “Jinyoung, I told an interviewer that I miss you. And I do miss you. But I guess saying it to a camera made me realize—” Cut to a close-up of Wonpil’s eyes flicking up to meet Jinyoung’s. “—Maybe I’m starting to actually  _ like _ you. And I can’t keep that a secret from you.”

 

And Jinyoung, who pretended to be logical and measured with nary a hair out of place, found himself seized with a sudden flush of fondness and longing.  _ Wonpil _ , warm and kind and utterly unlike anyone else Jinyoung had ever known.  _ Wonpil _ , confessing a crush within a week of feeling it, because he just had to say something. And Jinyoung kissed him.

 

It was rash, he realized later. He should have thought more about Wonpil, remembered that Wonpil was the kind who preferred to be single than in a casual relationship, if those were the only two options. He didn’t use dating apps, didn’t hook up, didn’t flirt backstage unless he really meant it. They were all like that, in Day6, and it was perhaps the strangest but widest gap between the two bands, because it left a huge set of experiences where they couldn’t relate. Got7 was flicking through celebrity-exclusive dating apps and initiating backstage rendezvous, while the guys in Day6 couldn’t fathom the thought of it. No matter how much Brian postured as their resident bad boy, the only Day6 member Jinyoung had ever heard of enjoying casual sex, without getting all tangled up in his emotions, was Dowoon.

 

(As the story goes, the one time Brian tried a one night stand, he ended up dating the girl for six months. They broke up when she tried to get frisky with him backstage at a soundcheck, and he told her she was being inappropriate, which is how ten staff members found her shouting “you took me to a love motel at four AM after we met at a bar and you’re  _ surprised _ you’re boring me sexually?” It is one of Jinyoung’s most treasured Day6 stories.)

 

The trouble was that Wonpil was more of an ideal for Jinyoung than an actual match. The best-friends-turned-lovers story sounded like a fairy tale, but it just couldn’t pan out, because Jinyoung was, is, an absolute disaster in romance. And the longing he felt, the reason he plunged into a relationship with one of his oldest friends in the first place, was a longing for stability. No one had ever given him that, and in the typhoon of fame, he just wanted someone to hold on to.

 

And then Jinyoung cheated. Not  _ badly _ , not anything scandalous. If it had been Jinyoung, looking at his boyfriend cheating that way, he probably would have gotten over it. But Jinyoung wasn’t Wonpil. And Wonpil should have known that Jinyoung is not, at his core, the person Wonpil wants him to be. Or the person everyone assumes he is—perfect.

 

He wasn’t then, but he wants to be now. It’s just that every time he looks at Wonpil he sees in his mind Wonpil’s wide eyes when he walked in on Jinyoung kissing another guy. And it makes Jinyoung feel like an absolute piece of shit.

 

Everyone,  _ everyone _ , knows that they broke up because Jinyoung cheated. Day6 doesn’t keep secrets—not on purpose, they just lack filters and foresight—and Got7 thrives on gossip, so Jinyoung can’t really hold that against Wonpil. But everyone also has opinions, which is why neither of them wanted anyone to know that their relationship has started up again.

 

At least—at  _ least _ —there’s one part of the story that no one else knows.

 

After all these years, Wonpil has never told a soul that the person he caught Jinyoung kissing was Jaebum.

  
  
  
  


 

When Jinyoung gets home, Jaebum is standing in the half-lit kitchen eating a bowl of ramen. The overhead light hums and flickers, and the window blinds behind Jaebum are half-open, revealing the square of light of a neighbor’s bedroom. Jaebum is looking out the window, probably to report back to Jackson on the neighbor’s current relationship status. Jackson liked to watch out the window and narrate as if he were one of the several boyfriends they’d seen the neighbor cycle through over the years. It was hilarious. Jinyoung misses him. He wishes Jackson were here, if only so he didn’t have to talk to Jaebum.

 

But Jaebum looks up at Jinyoung, his gaze steady and dark. They’re going to have the conversation, then. Jinyoung steels himself, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

 

“So you and Wonpil are back together,” Jaebum says. It’s less of a question than a statement. Jinyoung takes his time draping his jacket over the coat rack, smoothing out each wrinkle. He can’t quite bring himself to look at Jaebum.

 

“News travels that fast, huh?” He chances a grin in Jaebum’s direction, but Jaebum just frowns and shakes his head.

 

“Jimin texted me about it, and she heard it from Jae, so it’s just within the company right now. The staff probably knows.”

 

Jinyoung nods. If it was in the company today, acquaintances would be talking about it by the end of the week. His least favorite thing was getting advice from people he never asked—Jeongyeon and Nayeon always had opinions, conveyed to Jinyoung through Brian or Bambam, as if they were offering the final word on his personal life. Jimin shared her opinions directly, without mincing any words. And the awkwardly phrased warnings from his managers grated on his nerves.

 

“Congratulations, then.”

 

Jinyoung looks up. Jaebum is looking at him, an eyebrow arched in amusement, his expression open and warm. Jinyoung’s heart is in his throat, but he hopes it doesn’t show—he’s the worst at acting around Jaebum, but he  _ has _ to fake it, because Jaebum’s selective memory seems to mean that Jinyoung is the only one who hears these well-meaning comments and wants to scream,  _ you were the one shoving  _ your _ tongue in  _ my _ mouth, you know _ .

 

“Thanks,” Jinyoung says instead. He moves past Jaebum to take a glass out of the cabinet, electrically aware of the foot of air between them.

 

“You’re good together,” Jaebum says.

 

Jinyoung watches Jaebum in his peripheral vision. The curved lines of his shoulders are totally relaxed, smooth, strong. No memories shadow his face. It’s only Jinyoung who’s haunted by the past, then.

 

“I mean, at first, I thought it would be weird,” Jaebum continues. “Since we all know each other, and for so  _ long _ , you know? But I think you’re good together. It’s good if you can work things out.”

 

Jinyoung turns to the sink to fill the glass and thinks of Wonpil at his best, his wide smile and sparkling eyes. Jaebum isn’t wrong.

 

“I appreciate that,” Jinyoung says. He’s pretty sure he means it as he turns back around and leans against the countertop, still just a foot away from Jaebum.

 

“You deserve to be happy,” Jaebum says. He meets Jinyoung’s eyes, and an involuntary shiver runs down Jinyoung’s spine. “Have some stability. Considering how crazy all this gets.”

 

Jinyoung sips his water, holding the eye contact, afraid of the moment Jaebum looks away. “And what about you?” he asks, his pitch crystal-clear, happy and undistorted by emotion. “Haven’t heard you talk about going out in weeks.”

 

Jaebum shrugs. He’s still looking at Jinyoung. “The fans are my girlfriends.”

 

Jinyoung smiles, sets down the glass. “There’s a whole bunch of them outside our gate.”

 

Jaebum’s smile grows. “Sounds exciting.”

 

“You don’t know until you’ve tried it.” Jinyoung winks. The back of his mind is replaying exactly what it felt like to grab Jaebum by the neck and move into the no-man’s land of years of unspoken attraction. Real healthy, the two of them.   
  


“Well, I was just headed out.” Jaebum picks up his jacket off the counter and nods toward the door. “I’ll let you know how that goes.”

 

“Don’t take advice from me,” Jinyoung says. “I'd recommend you ask Taecyeon.”

 

Jaebum arches an eyebrow. “Or Mark.”

 

“I’ve purposefully ignored his dating life for years, hyung, don’t bring it up now.”

 

Jaebum grins, and it feels like Jinyoung has been kicked in the stomach. “I’ll see you later,” he says. He brushes past Jinyoung and sets his bowl in the sink, then brushes past Jinyoung again, knocking his shoulder in the process. He pulls on his jacket, one sleeve at a time, and pulls the hood up over his head. Jinyoung watches as he disappears out the front door. When the lock snaps into place, Jinyoung releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

Healthy. Jinyoung is absolutely, unquestionably turning a new leaf in his emotional health. No issues here.

  
  
  


 

 

Jinyoung tosses and turns in his bed that night. At 12 AM he pulls out his phone and goes to text Wonpil, but the last message on his screen is from 11:16 and reads  _ going to bed~ <3 _ and Jinyoung decides not to risk waking him up. That leaves him to stare at the long rectangles of light cast along his ceiling by the light shining through the window blinds. He tells himself he’s not thinking about Jaebum.

 

The problem with Jaebum—the only reason he was even kissing him when Wonpil opened up the door to the practice room at exactly the wrong time—was that for Jinyoung, there was always some magnetic piece of his heart pulling stubbornly back to him. Jaebum was his first crush, when he was just figuring out what a crush looked like, what it meant for him. JJ Project was, if anything, an exercise in soul-crushing disappointment, for a lot more reasons than how their song charted.

 

Jinyoung could understand that Jaebum just wasn’t  _ interested _ , if it weren’t for the shining moments of emotional connection that gave him false hope Jaebum might one day come to his senses. One time Jaebum told him, out of the blue,  _ you’re the only one I can really depend on _ , and Jinyoung thought about it for days, like an absolute fool. But he kept it to himself. Push too hard and Jaebum turned to ice. He wouldn’t engage Jinyoung, he would— _ manage _ him. And Jinyoung hated that almost as much as he loved the moments when it was just the two of them, real and present together.

 

Wonpil knows all of this. There was never a point in time when Wonpil didn’t know all of this.

 

Which somehow makes it that much worse.

 

Jinyoung flips onto his stomach and tells himself to get some sleep. They have practice in the morning, and then a show recording in the afternoon, all in preparation for their comeback. Jinyoung keeps thinking that this is going to be the one—the comeback that nets them the public attention always lying just outside of their grasp.

 

Experience tells him that in this, as with many things, he’s probably going to end up disappointed.

  
  
  


 

 

In the morning, Jinyoung climbs into the waiting van and finds Jackson already sitting in the very back, a goofy smile plastered on his face.

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t  _ tell me _ !” Jackson cries. Jinyoung slides into Jackson’s waiting arms, feeling a blush creep up his neck. “Here I thought you were living some sad, bookish single life, and you were out getting laid.”

 

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “There are kids in the car.”

 

“You don’t even want to know where Yugyeom was last night. He can hear this.”

 

“I was talking about Youngjae.”

 

Youngjae makes it a point to turn around and scowl at him, then puts his earbuds in and turns back to nap against the window. At the same time Jaebum climbs into the front passenger seat, saying good morning to their manager, without turning to look around at the rest of them.

 

“I can’t believe you made me find out from Jimin,” Jackson continues. “Are we even friends, Park Jinyoung?”

 

“I know I’m not friends with Jimin anymore.”

 

“Fair. The point is, this is great news. Wonpil is an absolute gem. I used to think he was just some scrawny nerd—I mean I loved him, obviously—but I never thought he’d turn into such a sexy motherfucker.”

 

“Do  _ you _ want to date him, Jackson?” Jinyoung teases. He chances a glance at the front seat. Jaebum isn’t wearing earbuds, but he shows no signs that he’s listening, either.

 

Jackson waves a hand. “I could never break up Kpop’s hottest couple. I ship you guys.”

 

Jinyoung cringes. “Don’t use that word.”

 

“It’s moving into the mainstream, you know.”

 

“I ship it, too,” Yugyeom pipes up. He turns around with a megawatt smile. “Glad you guys worked things out.”

 

There’s an awkward beat. Even Jackson doesn’t fill the silence. Back then Jackson had been the one to tell him,  _ I know you’re going through shit but you know Wonpil is Wonpil and what the hell were you thinking?  _ Jackson never knew the half of it.

 

Jinyoung smiles and forces himself not to glance at the front seat again. “Thank you,” Jinyoung tells them, “And never say the word ‘ship’ again. You’re giving me hives.”

 

Jackson settles down, turning to Mark instead to talk about their dinner plans. The van stops for Bambam at his apartment, and he enters the car with another round of “Hyung, you didn’t tell us?” and endless teasing. Jinyoung takes it in stride, listening just closely enough to make the appropriate retorts until everyone finally turns back to their phones. The whole time, Jaebum never even inclines his head in the direction of the conversation.

 

Not that Jinyoung  _ cares. _

 

Last he heard, Jaebum was dating some girl he’d met through friends, an indie musician older and cooler than him, definitely out of his league. Jaebum doesn’t talk about her, and no one is ever allowed to  _ ask _ , so it remains in Jinyoung’s box of unanswered questions. That box keeps rattling inside his head, and maybe if he could just get some answers, he wouldn’t care so much. If he could ask Jaebum any question, he’d probably start with,  _ do you even remember why Wonpil and I broke up? _ And go from there.

 

But he doesn’t need to ask. He doesn’t. The only priority now is fixing things with Wonpil.

 

He’s not asking. He imagines closing the box, and stuffing it into the farthest corner of his head.

  
  
  
  


 

He’s sitting up on the roof of the new company building, watching a video of himself on his phone, when he feels someone else’s presence standing above him. He looks up from examining his own dancing for flaws and discovers it’s Sungjin, running a hand over his hair and looking about as pissed as Jinyoung’s ever seen him.

 

Jinyoung pockets his phone. “You okay?”

 

Sungjin runs his tongue across his lips and gazes off to the side, over to the stairwell he must have just come up from. Jinyoung looks, too. There’s no one else. So there will be no one to witness Jinyoung get murdered. Great. Sungjin has always been a great strategist.

 

Sungjin sits down. Goosebumps spring up on Jinyoung’s arms, as if he’s got his own Spidey-senses to warn him that this conversation is not going to go well. He’s seen Sungjin angry, even livid, but this—this quiet, simmering silence—he’s only seen once or twice before.

 

“I’ve known you a long time,” Sungjin says, folding his hands over his knees and glancing over at Jinyoung. His eyes are dark glass, cold and distant. “Seen you go through a lot. We’ve always been good friends.”

 

Jinyoung nods, bracing himself for the next words out of Sungjin’s mouth. “But,” he prompts, looking back at Sungjin.

 

Sungjin shakes his head. “I don’t approve of—you and Wonpil.”

 

“It’s the twenty-first century, hyung—”

 

“ _ Not— _ damn it, Jinyoung, don’t twist my words around.” Sungjin’s eyes narrow. “I don’t approve of  _ you _ . Specifically  _ you. _ ”

 

Jinyoung presses his fingers together and crosses one leg over the other, trying to make himself look comfortable and unaffected. “Ouch,” he says, with a smile.

 

“Did you know he was dating someone a couple months ago?” Sungjin asks, lifting an eyebrow.

 

Jinyoung’s stomach drops. “Of course,” he lies.

 

“Nice guy,” Sungjin continues. “I mean really, genuinely nice. Not a celebrity. Dumped Wonpil because he was going off to the U.S. to study, didn’t think they could manage the schedule. Wonpil hasn’t ever talked about it to the rest of us.”

 

“He talked about it with me.”

 

Sungjin meets him with a level gaze. Jinyoung resists the urge to squirm.

 

“Right.” Sungjin’s eyebrows lift, in utter disbelief. “Here’s the thing. I love both of you—separately. I can support both of you separately. But if it comes down to it, and you’re asking me to pick between the two of you, I’m going to pick Wonpil. Every time.”

 

Jinyoung breathes in with his nose, his mind clicking forward altogether too slowly to keep up with this conversation. The whole thing about everyone having opinions is that they’re usually triangulated through a third party, rumors bouncing through the halls of the company. No one has ever been this direct, and it actually hurts, coming from Sungjin.

 

“You’re just a band, you know,” Jinyoung tries. “No need to be so dramatic.”

 

“Stop it,” Sungjin retorts. “You weren’t the one who had the pick up the pieces. After what  _ you did _ . He was really all in, planning your future together, pinning everything on you—do you get that?”

 

Jinyoung forces himself to hold Sungjin’s gaze, and try not to move, even though everything in him wants to get up and bolt.  _ Of course _ he gets it. No one knows better than Jinyoung himself just how much he’s been a real piece of shit.

 

“Do you give this talk to all of Brian’s girlfriends, too, hyung?” Swerve and bolt. Jinyoung doesn’t know whether to be ashamed of himself, or impressed.

 

Sungjin sighs and stands up. “No need. The difference between Brian and Wonpil is that Brian always controls part of the game—he just plays badly. But with you and Wonpil?” Sungjin glares down at him. “You hold all the cards. Every time.”

 

And with that, Sungjin disappears back down the stairwell, leaving Jinyoung to stare at the clouds and the cityscape, arguing with the imaginary Sungjin in his head. He's  _wrong_ , of course. Jinyoung won't mess up a good thing. Not this time.

 

* * *

 

_ tbc... _

 


	2. how did it end up like this

 

Jinyoung’s muscles are aching from non-stop dance practices when he shows up at Day6’s concert, watching the throngs of fans through his car’s rain-speckled windshield and humming “shoot me, shoot me” under his breath. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s wondering why he’s got a Day6 track stuck in his head instead of his own band’s, but this can be chalked up to the power of love, so he grips the steering wheel and tries not to think about it.

 

He flashes a STAFF/PERFORMER badge at security and drives to the reserved garage under the venue, where he sits for a moment with his hands on the steering wheel, staring at the blank concrete wall in front of him. He’s tired. He doesn’t want to get out of the car, or go up to the concert, or watch Wonpil sing love songs to hundreds of oblivious fans.

 

Earlier that morning, Wonpil had called him to make sure he was still going to be there. _Watch for the secret message I send you,_ Wonpil had laughed, causing Jinyoung’s heart to stutter a little in his chest. And the whole time Jinyoung was on the phone, Jaebum kept watching him with an infuriating little smile, like he wanted Jinyoung to know just how much he approved of Jinyoung’s venture into stability and commitment. Jinyoung had nearly snapped at him, _stop acting like you know anything_ , but he’d held his silence instead. Now he halfway wishes he’d snapped. If Jaebum had any idea how shitty of a boyfriend Jinyoung really is, maybe he’d have scolded him instead.

 

With a sigh, Jinyoung cuts the engine and forces himself to get out of the car. He’s exhausted. His band members all gave exhaustion as their excuse for not joining him at the concert. But unlike them, he has reasons to show up. Love to prove. Promises to follow through with.  


 

 

His bad mood persists even when he’s in the concert, seated next to Ayeon and Jimin and a few of their managers in the VIP section. The girls keep poking him and giving him teasing smiles, and when the curtain rises, Jimin says, “So are you gonna fight all the Wonpil fans?” and points to a screaming section of fans with _We love you Wonpil!_ signs and gigantic cameras. Jinyoung rolls his eyes at Jimin, but makes sure to dance along with the music and mouth the words to every song. There are far too many cameras here for him to let his bad mood show.

 

The secret message comes in a form Jinyoung didn’t expect, in the middle of “I Like You,” as the lights are flashing silver and gold. He doesn’t even know what he’s waiting for until he spots a necklace glinting around Wonpil’s neck. Startled, Jinyoung freezes in place. It’s his own necklace, a single silver pendant, one he’d assumed was lost years ago.

 

Jinyoung lifts his hands in the air and sways along with the crowd. He must have dropped it at Wonpil’s house, or left it with him at some point, and when they broke up, Wonpil held onto it, unwilling to bridge the awkward gap between them in order to give it back. And now he was wearing it while he sang out a confession of love. Jinyoung’s bad mood stutters out, replaced by a flush of longing. Wonpil is smiling too widely for this song, but his voice is angelic and his face is so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him. Maybe Jinyoung is going to have to fight the fans, after all.

 

Jinyoung’s heart thumps hard, looking at _his_ boyfriend up there on stage. He finds his voice, and begins to sing along with gusto. As Wonpil’s eyes rove over the crowd, a beam of light passes across the VIP section, catching Jinyoung in its glow for just a moment. It’s just long enough for Wonpil to spot him, and his smile grows wider.

 

Jinyoung has half a mind to launch himself onto the stage and kiss Wonpil in front of everyone. Instead he just sings along, hoping that Wonpil can see him out here, belting out his heart for the world to see.

  


 

 

He makes his way backstage after the show, weaving through staff and security until he spots Wonpil standing in a cluster of people at the end of a long hall. Jae, towering over the others, spots him first, and for a moment Jinyoung thinks that Jae is going to pretend he didn’t see him out of some long-standing grudge or a Sungjin-like paranoia. But then he nudges Wonpil, and Wonpil looks around. When their eyes meet, Wonpil breaks out into a smile and dashes down the hall.

 

“You’re here!” Wonpil cries, and throws his arms around Jinyoung’s neck. Laughing, Jinyoung catches him and spins him around, too aware of the metal square pressed between their chests. A token of forgiveness, worn on stage. Jinyoung doesn’t deserve Wonpil at all.

 

“Great show,” Jinyoung says as he puts Wonpil down, keeping a hand on his back. “I’m a little jealous of that girl you pulled up on stage, though.”

 

Wonpil sticks out his tongue. “She was cute.”

 

“You didn’t have to flirt, though,” Jinyoung teases. “She would have been fine without the lingering hug.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Wonpil pouts. “Next time I’ll bring _you_ up on stage.”

 

“Great,” Jinyoung agrees. “We can make out. We’ll be trending worldwide on Twitter by the end of the show.”

 

Wonpil shoves his shoulder and gestures back at the cluster of people he just left. “We’re going to go out for food, if you want. There’s a really good place close to here.”

 

Jinyoung traces Wonpil’s spine, undulating his fingers across the bones until Wonpil shivers. “Or we could get out of here,” Jinyoung says.

 

Wonpil holds his gaze for a long moment. Jinyoung watches him absently reach up to hold onto the silver pendant, like it’s going to offer him some guidance in this conflict between going with Jinyoung and convincing Jinyoung to go out with his friends. The choice is pretty obvious, as far as Jinyoung is concerned.

 

“This is yours,” Wonpil says instead, dodging the question. He holds up the pendant for Jinyoung to see.

 

“I know,” Jinyoung says. “I saw.”

 

He reaches for it, covering Wonpil’s fingers with his own and turning the pendant up to find his own name etched into the back.

 

“Are you upset?”

 

Jinyoung looks up again and discovers Wonpil is blushing, apparently uncertain of his own romantic gesture. It’s endearing and heartbreaking, all at once. Jinyoung shifts his grasp, pressing his fingers around Wonpil’s, so that the pendant is covered by their hands.

 

“No,” Jinyoung says. “I’m happy.”

 

Wonpil nods, his eyes flicking up to meet Jinyoung’s. He blushes again.

 

“Me, too.”

 

Jinyoung considers him, these contradictions all wrapped up together. Bashful and bold, delicate and brave, forgiving and unrelenting. Wonpil is too good for this world, too good for Jinyoung, and yet here they are. Jinyoung moves his hand again, placing it on Wonpil’s shoulder, so that his thumb brushes the skin at the base of his neck.

 

“So,” Jinyoung says. “How about we take our happiness to another location?”

 

Wonpil opens his mouth to answer, but at the same time, Jae shouts down the hall “Yo! Wonpil! Group pics in five!”

 

Jinyoung sighs and lets his hand fall back to his side. Wonpil just shrugs, like he’s apologizing.

 

“After the pictures?” Wonpil asks.

 

“Okay,” Jinyoung agrees. He points his thumb in Jae’s direction. “Do you guys actually understand a single word he says?”

 

“Sometimes,” Wonpil shrugs. He loops his arm through Jinyoung’s and pulls him down the hall. “After a while I end up thinking the way he talks.”

 

“That’s unfortunate.” Jinyoung can feel eyes on them as they walk past several open doors, staff with questioning glances that Jinyoung avoids. The hallway opens up into a wide entryway, where he can see the rest of the band waiting and laughing at something.

 

As they enter the entryway, Wonpil slides away from Jinyoung and runs up to join his band in front of the Day6 poster. They all shout when Wonpil jumps in, catching himself on Dowoon’s shoulders, who obediently piggy-backs Wonpil and moves into a new pose. Jinyoung shuffles off to the side where Brian and Sungjin’s girlfriends are standing, but he does not introduce himself, because he does not care. Still, it’s a strange feeling, being the one waiting.

 

His bad mood begins to creep back in as he waits, watching Wonpil taking pictures. There’s just something about their faces that irks him, the unabashed joy. Jinyoung gets it, he really does—he still staggers under the weight of adoration poured out by so many millions of fans. Standing in a sea of lights still brings him to tears. He often has a moment where he realizes all over again that every bad day, every lackluster dance practice and off-tune recording, all the hours they’ve poured into trying to achieve some level of perfection—it all adds up to a crowd screaming _I love you Jinyoung_ in a hundred different languages, and he almost can’t bear the ache of gratitude pulsing through his soul.

 

And yet here he is, watching Wonpil, and feeling like Wonpil has something he doesn’t. But he doesn’t have a clue what that something is. All he knows is he wants to get out of there, away from the staff, away from the fans, away from Brian and Sungjin’s girlfriends, away from Brian and Sungjin and Jae and Dowoon—away from everyone but Wonpil. If he can get away with Wonpil, maybe he won’t feel like this.

 

They take pictures for a solid fifteen minutes before Jinyoung is finally pulled in for a group shot. He poses with his thumb up and a cool smile on his face, even though Wonpil is cheesing next to him. Sungjin, he notices, only gives a perfunctory smile, and doesn’t look Jinyoung’s way at all.

 

Jinyoung leans over to whisper in Wonpil’s ear. “So are we getting out of here, or?”

 

Wonpil looks at him and grabs Jinyoung’s wrist. “Don’t worry,” Wonpil says. “The rest of tonight is for you.”

  
  
 

 

When they’re finally in Jinyoung’s car and out on the open road, Jinyoung finds himself breathing normally again, and he reaches over to tangle his fingers up with Wonpil’s. The streetlamps wash across Wonpil’s face, catching him in an otherworldly glow. Jinyoung pulls on his hand, presses his lips against Wonpil’s fingers. Something fragile and warm hums between them, and Jinyoung wishes he didn’t feel so hollow inside, grasping for something he’s not sure he can hold on to.

 

“Thanks for coming,” Wonpil says. He holds Jinyoung’s hand between both of his in his lap. “I know you have a packed schedule right now.”

 

“We’ll always have packed schedules,” Jinyoung says immediately. He runs his thumb across the skin of Wonpil’s hand. “I can still show up for your concert.”

 

“I know,” Wonpil agrees.

 

Jinyoung glances over and finds Wonpil staring out at the passing road, his mind a million miles away. This isn’t robot Wonpil, but something else altogether. Jinyoung breathes carefully, his stomach starting to turn itself into knots.

 

“Did you think I would cancel?”

 

Wonpil sighs. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“I know.” Wonpil’s grip tightens. “It’s just,” he sighs again. “Nevermind.”

 

Jinyoung chews at his lip and tries to guess what Wonpil might be upset about. In the past few weeks since their dating news ricocheted around the company, they have been better-than-ever. Others keep commenting that they are jealous, wishing they could also hide true love in plain sight.

 

“Wonpil.” Jinyoung glances over at him again. He’s withdrawn, curved around himself.

 

Wonpil looks over, just briefly, obviously nervous. Jinyoung braces himself for whatever is coming next.

 

“Sometimes,” Wonpil says, in a small voice, “I feel like you’re faking. Don’t get mad.”

 

Jinyoung licks his lips and watches the road. “I’m not mad.”

 

“It’s just that—I don’t know if you’re really as happy as you say you are,” Wonpil continues. “And I don’t know how to make you happy.”

 

Jinyoung stares at the road. Repeats Wonpil’s words in his head. He doesn’t know what to say—his first instinct is to remind Wonpil just how terribly happy they’ve been. He wants to point out that he didn’t even _want_ to go to the concert tonight, but he did it anyway, _for Wonpil_ , and here Wonpil is doubting him. It stings.

 

It stings because Jinyoung is horribly afraid it’s true.

 

“I’m happy,” Jinyoung says finally. “Wonpil, I’m happy. The things I’m not happy about—they don’t have anything to do with you. Okay? It’s just stuff with our comeback. I promise.”

 

Wonpil stays silent for a long moment.

 

“Okay,” he says.

 

“Okay,” Jinyoung repeats. He squeezes Wonpil’s hand and smiles. “We’re okay.”

  
  
  


 

In the morning, Jinyoung drives them from their hotel to the company building. Wonpil doesn’t say much, nursing his coffee and humming wandering tunes under his breath. Jinyoung flips on the radio. An old Big Bang track floats through the speakers, almost unfamiliar now. Wonpil begins to rap along, and it would be hilarious, if it weren’t for the the somber mood weighing down the car.

 

Jinyoung parks in the company garage. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

 

Wonpil finally looks up. “Not tonight?”

 

“We’ve got practice all day, we’re filming a show tonight, and the comeback showcase is in two days,” Jinyoung says, his tone apologetic.

 

“Right,” Wonpil says. He shakes himself. “Sorry. I knew that.”

 

“It’s okay,” Jinyoung says. It bothers him that Wonpil is so distracted, his mood so blue, and it bothers him that he can’t say anything because it might set off another _discussion,_ which is exhausting and unproductive. At least the night had been blissful, their uncertainties shoved aside in favor of a good time.

 

They say goodbye inside the building, with Wonpil disappearing up one staircase and Jinyoung up the opposite one. He feels relieved once he’s alone, and hates himself for it.

 

As early as it is, Jinyoung expected to be the first one to practice. But when he reaches the doors, he can already hear the beat of their new track reverberating through the walls. He pushes open the door and discovers Jaebum dancing in front of the mirrors, sweat already seeping through his shirt.

 

Jaebum spots Jinyoung and stops dancing, giving him a lazy wave and jogging across the room to shut off the music. Chest heaving, he returns to the couches where Jinyoung is in the process of shedding his jacket.

 

“Are you ready for hours of pointless dance practice?” Jaebum asks, a wide smile on his face.

 

Jinyoung snorts. “They’d get better if you hadn’t turned into such a pushover this year.”

 

“Yesterday you called me a hardass,” Jaebum retorts.

 

Jinyoung rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone. The screen is empty save for a notification reminding him to go to Day6’s concert the day before. He closes it out.

 

“Hey,” Jaebum says. “Are you okay?”

 

Jinyoung looks up. Jaebum’s expression has hardened into one of serious concern. Leave it to Jaebum to sniff out Jinyoung’s problems within seconds. He’d really thought he could hide it today, but evidently, Jaebum could read his mind—at least, when it suited him.

 

“Fine,” Jinyoung shrugs.

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Jinyoung throws his phone into his bag. He never intended to talk to Jaebum about his problems, but if the universe is forcing him, what is he supposed to do? As much as Jinyoung would prefer to keep his relationship drama to himself, he’s never had much restraint when it comes to baring his soul to Jaebum.

 

“Well,” Jinyoung says, “Wonpil thinks I’m _pretending_ to be happy. So that’s kind of a problem for me, right now.”

 

Jaebum gives him a hard look, like he’s searching for some other secrets that Jinyoung has buried away. Look hard enough and he might find some, and then Jinyoung will have plenty of problems to occupy his time. Jinyoung looks at the mirror behind them, meeting his own eyes in the glass. He can’t bring himself to look at Jaebum.

 

“Are you?” Jaebum asks.

 

Jinyoung’s heart is in his throat. He pushes his bangs off his forehead and tries to smile.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

It’s the honest truth, and Jaebum knows it, from the way he’s still looking at him, with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and one eyebrow beginning to arch. Jinyoung sinks down onto the couch, his arms spread wide across the back, and looks up at Jaebum.

 

“I mean,” Jinyoung says. “When I’m having a bad day, I go to a fan sign or a concert or a photoshoot or whatever the hell we’re doing that day, and I pretend to have a great time. When I’m sad, I pretend like I’m happy. When I’m angry, I pretend like I’m fine. So the answer is, I don’t fucking know.”

 

Jaebum stands there, fists balled into the pockets of his sweatpants, looking at Jinyoung like he’s a puzzle to be figured out. Then he flops down beside him, his sweaty shoulder just touching Jinyoung’s. Jinyoung shifts out of range.

 

“That’s the job,” Jaebum says. “That’s not your relationship.”

 

“So what are you suggesting?” Jinyoung asks, tapping his fingers against the leather couch. “That I tell Wonpil, hey by the way, you’re right, something _is_ wrong! I’m kind of jealous of your growing success as a musician, but I have no idea why.”

 

Jaebum turns to look at him. Jinyoung resists the urge to shift further away.

 

“If you’re feeling that way, it might help to say something.”

 

Jinyoung groans and rests his head on the back of the couch. “You know Wonpil. He’d just try to fix the problem.”

 

“And you don’t want the problem to be fixed?”

 

“I don’t want to have a problem in the first place.”

 

Jaebum sighs and pulls his legs up onto the couch, cross-legged, and rests his hands on his knees. This way, his knee is close enough to Jinyoung’s thigh for a kind of static electricity to pass between them—just the awareness of his presence, causing all Jinyoung’s attention to zero in on that spot on his leg. Not that he’s thinking about it.

 

“You aren’t your persona,” Jaebum says. It jolts Jinyoung out of the things he’s not thinking, and he looks up to find Jaebum totally serious, frowning at the empty room before them. “But you’re not your emotions, either.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean that just because you feel something, that doesn’t cancel out your ability to make choices. And your choices are probably more important in relationships than what you feel, you know?”

 

Jinyoung smiles. It’s not so much that he agrees with Jaebum as it is that he appreciates it when Jaebum goes philosophical in the early hours of the morning in a dance practice room. Sometimes Jaebum seems to forget he’s a pop star, and figures himself a scholarly-type instead.

 

“I guess so,” Jinyoung concedes.

 

“I’m serious,” Jaebum says. He turns to face Jinyoung, gesticulating with both hands. “What I’m saying is, look at our band. What if you or I walked away every time we felt dissatisfied? Where would we be now?”

 

“The military,” Jinyoung shrugs.

 

“Fine. The point is, sometimes you have to choose to work through your emotions and stick out your situation, _even when it feels like shit_. If you can look at your relationship and say, this is a good thing, then your emotions can be dealt with.”

 

Jinyoung leans back into the couch again.

 

Jaebum reaches out and grips Jinyoung’s shoulder. His grip is too hot, pressing too hard into the muscle, and Jinyoung grits his teeth. Stares into Jaebum’s oblivious and handsome face.

 

“Don’t quit on a good thing just because it’s difficult.” Jaebum’s fingers tighten and he leans forward, searching Jinyoung’s face for any sign of agreement.

 

It’s been however many years of the two of them as a team, and Jinyoung still can’t find the resolve to defy Jaebum’s demands. He sits very still, thinking about Jaebum’s grip on his shoulder and about the way Wonpil laughed when they reached the hotel room the night before—melodic, delighted, exactly the good thing Jaebum is talking about. If there’s one bad thing in this relationship—well, it’s not Wonpil.

 

“Okay,” Jinyoung manages to say. He can almost believe it when he hears himself saying it. “I won’t.”

 

“Good.” Jaebum stands up. The place where he gripped Jinyoung’s shoulder keeps tingling as Jaebum grins, then drifts across the room, returning to his place in front of the mirror to drill a tricky bit of the choreography.

 

He’s right though, Jinyoung is pretty sure. Good things take work, sometimes unpleasant work, like this comeback they’re preparing for now. And maybe Jinyoung’s just sabotaging himself, assuming his relationship with Wonpil to be destined to crumble just like their comeback is destined to underperform. Maybe Jaebum is right, and what Jinyoung needs to do is double down on every endeavor in his life, starting with their messy choreography and ending with Wonpil.

 

Resolved, Jinyoung stands up, rolling out the shoulder Jaebum had gripped. His positive and determined outlook starts with this dance practice, with this comeback. And later, he will go back to Wonpil, and talk everything out.

  
  


 

 

Their comeback underperforms.

 

The results are not bad, by any means. Bambam compares it to Marvel films—”The stakes are just _so high_ , ya know? So like, no matter how well we do, if we aren’t selling out box offices worldwide, we’re a flop.”

 

“We’re not a Marvel film,” Jinyoung retorts, readjusting his microphone backstage at their first music show recording. “We’re a Kpop dance group.”

 

Bambam shrugs. “It’s a good metaphor, and it should make you feel better. I mean, _Ant-Man and the Wasp_ didn’t sell like _Infinity War,_ right? But no one expected it to, either.”

 

“So you’re saying that BTS and EXO are the _Infinity Wars_ of Kpop, and we’re… _Ant-Man and the Wasp._ ” Jinyoung lifts his eyebrows, trying to get Bambam to see just how underwhelming that comparison really is.

 

“Nah,” Jackson butts in. “I’d say we’re more like the _Thor_ series, but we just haven’t reached our _Ragnarok_ era yet.”

 

“What’s wrong with this song?” Jaebum asks him with a scowl.

 

“Nothing,” Jackson says, holding up his hands. “I liked _Thor: The Dark World_ , actually.” He turns and gives Jinyoung a grimace, his bottom lip pulled low and eyes wide, in the universal expression for _yikes_.

 

“Maybe _Thor: The Dark World_ is when we were doing ‘Fly,’” Bambam muses. “You know, I mean, we really liked it then but now whenever I go online I just see people talking trash about it.”

 

“I liked ‘Fly,’” Jaebum says. Jackson starts crooning his opening ad-libs back to him.

 

Jinyoung sighs. “If this isn’t our _Ragnarok,_ then what is it?”

 

“A good song,” Jackson says. He claps Jinyoung on the back, lingering to squeeze his shoulder, concern etched on his face. “We’re doing good, Jinyoung. Try not to compare yourself to others, okay?”

 

“Right,” Jinyoung agrees. But he doesn’t mean it.

 

The hollow feeling expands in his chest as they take their places on stage and the music starts up. Jinyoung can hear the fans chanting, a low thrum under the music pulsing through his in-ear monitors. He hits each mark in perfect sequence, his body conforming to the choreography with artistic precision. Mark and Youngjae are both half a beat behind for the first ten seconds. Jinyoung notes this, catches Jaebum’s eye, and then pushes it out of his mind.

 

When he sings, he looks straight into the camera and smiles like he’s in love with its glass eye staring back at him. The fans are screaming, and Jinyoung is _perfect_. He can feel perfection coursing through his veins.

 

And it’s still not enough.

 

This is the problem, Jinyoung thinks. He hits each beat in sequence, the lines of his body smooth and unaffected by his thoughts. He smiles like he’s got something to prove. And inside he’s empty. The fans scream his name as he runs up to the front, swaying his hips, turning his shoulder to a coquettish angle, pulling at his collar. But it all sounds like a meaningless drumbeat. He can’t _feel_ it, no matter how determined his is to make the best of what he has.

 

The recording ends and the floor manager signals that they’re free to stop. Jinyoung remains in his ending pose, for just a moment, his chest heaving.

 

He understands why he’s annoyed with Wonpil, now: he’s annoyed that Wonpil can look so satisfied, so fulfilled, when Jinyoung has more success than Wonpil has ever wanted and all he feels inside is a dull craving for something _else._ Something more.

 

Jinyoung blinks under the stage lights. For a single moment of clarity, he wishes he wasn’t like this.

 

Someone’s hand pulls at his arm. Jinyoung looks up and it’s Jaebum, smiling down at him in a way that’s going to look adorable on camera. Jinyoung stands up, automatically leaning against Jaebum’s side, and Jaebum’s arm slides around his waist.

 

“It was good,” Jaebum says in his ear. “We did good.”

 

Jinyoung just nods, certain that it doesn’t matter. But he gives Jaebum the smile he’s looking for, anyway.

  
  
  


 

A week passes before Jinyoung has the opportunity meet up with Wonpil for longer than a few stolen minutes in the back halls of the company building. When he finally does get time off, Wonpil is oddly evasive, texting only _can you come to the dorm at 8?_ Jinyoung agrees, mostly because he’s too tired to argue for something else. He doesn’t know what he’d prefer, anyway, except for a Sungjin-less location.

 

It’s already dark when he arrives at Wonpil’s dorm. Tonight the streets are nearly empty, save for a drunk man fumbling with his keys and a cluster of girls in high heels smoking cigarettes, who all turn to watch Jinyoung pass. He speeds up, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and avoids their eyes.

 

He buzzes the doorbell and waits. But when the door opens, it’s Brian standing on the other side.

 

“Wonpil asked me to grab the door,” Brian explains, with a warm smile. He draws Jinyoung inside with an arm around his shoulders. “How have you been?”

 

“Great,” Jinyoung lies, annoyed that he has to make small talk. Brian squeezes his shoulder.

 

“I like the album, man,” Brian says. His stride is longer than Jinyoung’s, and he has to speed up as they climb the stairs. “Always gotta level up, huh?”

 

Jinyoung smiles and shrugs. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

 

“Spoken like a true artist.” Brian stops in front of his front door and grabs the handle. “After you.”

 

Jinyoung starts to walk in, but the whole place is dark. Someone is snickering inside, and then the lights flip on.

 

“SURPRISE!”

 

A crowd of people stands in the living room, with Wonpil in the center, holding a huge cake. They all start singing “Happy Birthday” and Jinyoung feels Brian’s hands on his back, shoving him inside. Chaos surrounds him; in flashes Jinyoung spots Jackson with silly string, Jae with a guitar, two of the managers with Got7 lightsticks, and Yugyeom throwing confetti over everyone.

 

Someone shoves Jinyoung next to Wonpil, and suddenly everyone has their phone out. It’s almost like walking through an airport, except that they’re all still singing. Wonpil kicks at Jinyoung’s leg.

 

“You have to make a wish,” he says, his smile wide and his face pink.

 

Jinyoung grins, his mind slowly catching up with the moment. He’d almost forgotten yesterday was his birthday; after he did a V Live he figured there wasn’t much more to celebrate. But Wonpil is smiling at him like it’s the happiest day of his life, and the cake spells out _Happy Birthday Park Jinyoung!,_ and everyone is still singing. It’s a picture-perfect birthday surprise.

 

The song ends and everyone looks at him. Jinyoung closes his eyes.

 

The only thing he can think to wish is _I wish that one day I’ll be as happy as I pretend to be_. And then he blows out the candles. Everyone cheers, and someone hits the play button on the music. It’s something American that he doesn’t recognize. Jinyoung is just relieved he doesn’t have to listen to himself sing.

 

Wonpil sets the cake down on the table behind them and turns around to grab Jinyoung by the wrist. “Come cut the cake,” he says. Everyone is dancing in the living room now, and Jae and Brian are handing out cups of alcohol. Bambam might already be drunk, leaning on the shoulder of one of Jinyoung’s favorite coordi-noonas and shouting the words to the song. Jinyoung spots Jaebum standing in a far corner next to Sungjin, their heads tilted together, laughing at some private joke.

 

Jinyoung shakes himself. “Did you plan this?” he asks Wonpil.

 

Wonpil shrugs, his lips pressed into a closed-mouth smile. “Maybe.”

 

Always the perfect boyfriend. Jinyoung slides his arm around Wonpil’s waist and leans in, resting his head against Wonpil’s, trying to soak up some of his contentment.

 

“I love it,” Jinyoung says. He’s not lying.

 

 

 

Over the following hours the party descends into exhaustion-fueled drunkenness. At some point Dowoon pulls out a box drum and Jae grabs a guitar, and they start singing familiar Wonder Girls and 2PM tracks, but with obscene lyrics. Eventually everyone gets in on the fun; Wonpil procures a keyboard and turns a Got7 song into something so filthy, Mark actually has tears streaming down his face from laughing so hard. Bang Chan looks thrilled, like a kid who’s snuck into an R-rated movie.

 

Then Jinyoung spies movement on the fringes of the group, and he watches Jaebum slip out the door to the balcony. He’s not exactly surprised that Jaebum is trying to escape his birthday party, but it still hurts, in a weird way. When Youngjae is crooning out a 2AM ballad (revised to refer to the size of his—well), Jinyoung takes his opportunity to follow Jaebum out the door.

 

It’s quiet on the balcony, thanks to the soundproofing the guys had wisely paid for when they moved in. Jaebum stands with his arms resting on the railing, tilting a cup of beer back and forth. He’s studying it with a frown, and he’s so terribly handsome that it seems almost sinful.

 

Jinyoung clears his throat. “Did you come out here to talk to your girlfriend during my birthday party?”

 

From the way Jaebum jerks back and straightens up, Jinyoung guessed right. Jaebum rubs the back of his neck and taps his cup against the railing.

 

“Sorry.” Jaebum smiles, apologetic. “It was just a quick call.”

 

Jinyoung closes the door fully behind him and steps out beside Jaebum. The apartment has a decent view of the surrounding streets, and the night is cool enough to raise goosebumps on Jinyoung’s arms. He glances over at Jaebum and finds him pensive, returned to staring at his cup.

 

Jinyoung decides he might as well take a chance. “How’s that going?” he asks.

 

He half-expects Jaebum to tell him to piss off, but maybe he guessed right. Jaebum turns to lean against the railing, a comfortable distance from Jinyoung.

 

“It’s good, I guess.” Jaebum shrugs, frowns up at the wall. He looks like he’s going to stop with that. But to Jinyoung’s surprise, he keeps talking. “I don’t see her much. The sex is good, conversation is—fine.” He gives a hollow laugh. “It just seems like my relationships are never quite what I want them to be.”

 

It’s the most Jinyoung has heard Jaebum say about any relationship he’s ever had, with the exception of what he will put into lyrics. Jinyoung knows the conversation is fragile; one wrong question and Jaebum will shut down. He considers his next words carefully, pondering over whether to try to console Jaebum or ask more questions. It doesn’t really matter, though. If Jaebum wants to shut him out, he will. Jinyoung has never managed to stop him before.

 

“What about before her?” Jinyoung tries. “That guy who looked like a skinny Taecyeon-hyung?”

 

Jaebum barks out a laugh. “I wouldn’t call that dating.”

 

For a long moment they are quiet. Laughter seeps through the sliding glass doors. Jinyoung recognizes the tune of “Who’s Your Mama?” and considers turning around just to see what kind of chaos is happening inside. But Jaebum hasn’t moved, so Jinyoung doesn’t, either.

 

Eventually, Jaebum speaks up again. “Sometimes I feel like—” he says. Pauses. Starts over. “It’s like, the people I’m dating live in reality. And I live in—well. Somewhere else. And between us there’s this wall, and it’s made up of all the shitty parts of being famous and having this job and working these hours. I can’t bring them to my side of the wall, but if I go to their side, I stand a good chance at ruining both our lives.”

 

Jinyoung watches Jaebum talk, his face silhouetted in city lights. Somehow he’s always known that Jaebum has plenty of pain, but Jaebum is so selective about what he shares. This is still too fragile.

 

“Hyung, that’s dramatic,” Jinyoung says with a smile, desperate to lighten the mood before Jaebum quits the conversation.

 

Jaebum looks at him. “But do you get it?”

 

Jinyoung nods. “Yeah. I get it.”

 

They fall silent again. Jinyoung wishes he didn’t understand, but he does. Even with Wonpil, he can feel the exact wall Jaebum is talking about. Like sometimes, he can tell Wonpil what he’s feeling, but Wonpil won’t get it, because he’s never lived on Jinyoung’s side of the wall.

 

“That’s why I’m trying to encourage you with Wonpil,” Jaebum says suddenly. He stands up again, turning to look Jinyoung in the eyes. “I don’t mean to butt in on your personal life, it’s just that, if I had someone I could be real with in the middle of this mess, someone who I wanted to be with and who _got it_ —the fame, I mean—I would do everything I could to hold onto that.”

 

Jinyoung runs his tongue across the back of his teeth and tries to think of what to say.

 

“Thanks for caring, hyung,” he finally manages. His voice sounds hoarse.

 

Jaebum reaches out to grab his shoulder. “I always care about you. You know that.”

 

They look at each other. Time seems to stretch out thin and taut. Jinyoung is not—not—wishing that Jaebum would lean over and kiss him.

 

“Happy birthday, Jinyoung,” Jaebum says.

 

Then he disappears inside, leaving Jinyoung out on the balcony with his heart pounding hard and his mind whirring with all the things he cannot think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be three chapters, but some of the sections took more words than I expected, so it should be four chapters now. 
> 
> And the obligatory disclaimer: this is just fiction; I don't think this is what these celebs are ~really like~


	3. it was only a kiss

As the weeks pass by, Jinyoung delays discussing his feelings with Wonpil. He doesn’t have a _reason_ , exactly, except that there’s never a right time. Jinyoung has half a dozen shows to film, and Wonpil keeps heading overseas for Day6’s tour. When they actually have time together, Jinyoung can’t bring himself to ruin the moment by outlining his confusing feelings of dissatisfaction. Part of it is, he knows Wonpil would just blame himself.

 

But eventually, he can’t delay any longer. The only time he and Wonpil can find to themselves is the night before half the industry heads to Hong Kong to film a special episode of Music Bank. Jinyoung convinces his manager that it won’t cause any problems for him to spend the night at the Day6 dorm—and his manager, exhausted himself, just says “I don’t care, Jinyoung.” But he does clear it with Day6’s manager, who confirms he has an extra spot in Day6’s van the following morning, and the whole convoluted process ends with Jinyoung lying on Wonpil’s bed, staring at his framed album posters while Wonpil packs his suitcase.

 

“Can I talk to you about something?” Jinyoung asks. His voice squeaks a little as he says it—far from the cool, unaffected tone he’d wanted. Wonpil shakes out a dress shirt and frowns in his direction.

 

“Of course,” he says.

 

Jinyoung watches Wonpil continue to pack. He moves from the shirts to folding up jeans. Jinyoung still hasn’t said anything, but he can’t think of how to start. After a few minutes of silence, Wonpil stops what he’s doing and looks at Jinyoung again. This time, something has shifted in his eyes. He looks scared.

 

Jinyoung’s stomach drops. “It’s not about you,” he says quickly.

 

“Okay.” Wonpil throws his clothes onto his chair and comes to sit down next to Jinyoung.

 

“I mean,” Jinyoung continues, pushing a hand through his hair. “It’s sort of about you. But it’s not. Don’t worry.”

 

Jinyoung never expected to be scared. Very few things frighten him—his oldest sister, fans at airports, and drunk Bambam’s choices all make the short list—but he’s frightened of talking to Wonpil. Which is strange, because in all these years, he’s never hesitated to tell Wonpil what was on his mind. Maybe the difference is that now, he stands to lose something. Losing face with Wonpil seems like a pretty steep cost, now.

 

He’s about to say to hell with Jaebum’s idiotic advice when Wonpil reaches for him, pulling on his shoulder until Jinyoung gives in and shifts toward him. Wonpil guides him over, sliding his arm around Jinyoung’s shoulders and tilting Jinyoung’s head to rest against his chest. Like this, Jinyoung shivers with his own vulnerability.

 

“I’m not happy,” he admits. He looks at his own face on the poster on Wonpil’s wall. He only partially remembers that photoshoot, one among the countless photoshoots he’s done. So much time spent on becoming an idol, an ideal. It all seems pointless to him, right now.

 

“I know,” Wonpil says. He threads his fingers through Jinyoung’s hair.

 

Jinyoung hates how the words sound. He hates admitting this, hates that he can’t force his emotions to conform to the vision of his life he has set for himself.

 

“And it’s not your fault,” Jinyoung continues. “It’s just that I look at you, and I listen to your songs, and it’s like—you have something I don’t.”

 

Wonpil makes a noise of understanding in his throat. Jinyoung thinks back to when they were trainees and he’d sneak Wonpil into his room after hours, where they’d whisper under the covers in his bunk so as not to disturb Sungjin. They’d always end up laughing hysterically about nothing, anyway, and Sungjin would wake up and storm out of the room to sleep in the hall until Wonpil felt guilty, and told Sungjin to go sleep in his room, instead. So many memories from when they were on the cusp of fame, hoping for greatness, praying for their shot at the dream.

 

“Maybe it’s because you haven’t been doing this as long as me,” Jinyoung says. “I know it doesn’t seem like it should make that much of a difference, but every single time we release a new song, or I get a new opportunity, I feel like—this is it? It doesn’t feel like the life I was dreaming of.”

 

Wonpil doesn’t say anything. Jinyoung listens to the thumping of his heartbeat until he can’t stand it anymore and he shifts, pushing back to look at Wonpil.

 

“I’m telling you because I want you to understand,” Jinyoung says, “that it’s not _because_ of you.”

 

Wonpil reaches up and brushes a thumb along Jinyoung’s jaw. “I know,” he says. He frowns a little, his eyes searching Jinyoung’s face. He sighs. “But I don’t really understand what you’re feeling. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Jinyoung says. “I’m not asking you to.” He ignores the hollow feeling in his chest. He knows he can’t expect Wonpil to understand, but he wishes Wonpil could _fix_ it. He used to be able to fix Jinyoung with an hour or two on the phone. But that was before.

 

“But I want to support you,” Wonpil says. “I care about your feelings. I don’t want you to pretend to be happy, just for me.”

 

“But I am happy with you,” Jinyoung says automatically. He’s pretty sure what he’s saying is true; he’s more sure when Wonpil blushes on cue. “It’s not about you.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Jinyoung curls toward him, relaxing into the warmth of his presence. He mentally congratulates himself on a heart-to-heart well had, a conflict resolved. Maybe Jaebum isn’t such a bad counselor, after all. He thinks about what Jaebum said, about investing in the good things in his life even when it’s hard, and figures this is what Jaebum had in mind. For the first time in a long time, Jinyoung feels as though the clouds might clear. He wasn’t lying to Wonpil—none of his emotional turmoil is because of Wonpil, after all. Wonpil is his island of refuge in the middle of all the chaos. He always has been.

 

Later, when Jinyoung is almost asleep, he hears Wonpil clear his throat.

 

“Jinyoung?” he asks. “Can I talk to you about something else?”

 

Jinyoung pushes himself in the direction of consciousness, trying to make his mind and mouth work. “Whatsit?” he manages.

 

Wonpil sighs. “That’s okay,” he says, turning to wrap an arm around Jinyoung. “Go to sleep now.”

 

Jinyoung nods into his pillow, and then falls asleep.

  
  
  
  


In the morning, the dorm is in chaos.

 

Dowoon misplaced his passport, apparently, and Jinyoung enters the living room to find Dowoon and their manager tearing through the couch looking for it. He goes into the bathroom, but Jae is already there with a bottle of hair gel in one hand, a comb in the other, and an aura of existential crisis hanging over him. Jinyoung backs out, deciding to use the other bathroom instead, and heads back down the hall.

 

“I think you need to help your boyfriend,” he says to Brian as he passes him, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

 

“If he were my boyfriend,” Brian sighs, rubbing his eyes, “maybe he’d actually let me.”

 

Jinyoung claps him on the shoulder, grateful once again that Jae was shuffled into Day6 instead of placed—well, anywhere near Jinyoung. Somewhere behind him a door slams and Jinyoung turns around to see Brian in front of a shut bedroom door, staring up at the ceiling in defeat. Then Wonpil bursts into the hall, running out to the living room and shouting, “DOWOON WHY IS YOUR PASSPORT IN MY STUFF?”

 

Jinyoung finds the other bathroom. Once he’s inside, he locks the door.

 

He avoids most of the the morning’s subsequent crises by hiding in Wonpil’s room, and even manages to put together a decent airport outfit. He and Wonpil head outside exactly on time, suitcases in hand. The others shuffle into the van after them. Sungjin catapults himself into the passenger seat five minutes late.

 

“Made it!” he shouts.

 

“We actually need to leave right now,” Wonpil whispers into Jinyoung’s ear. “But we always say an earlier time. For Sungjin.”

 

Jinyoung forces himself to smile, and leans his head against the window. He misses his own band, and _their_ weird habits. It’s strange how he’s known these guys for years, but they really have solidified into their own little groups, with their own ways of doing things. And Day6’s way of doing things is really grating on Jinyoung’s nerves.

 

Wonpil hums something under his breath. Jae is still messing with his hair, and Brian’s frustrated “Oh my god it looks _fine_ ” only seems to make him angrier. Sungjin is practically bouncing with anticipation and Dowoon keeps tapping his passport against the window.

 

When Wonpil isn’t looking, Jinyoung pulls out his cell phone and texts Jaebum, _I just want to pre-apologize for murdering Day6._

 

Jaebum texts back almost immediately. _I’ll be your alibi. You were never in that van._

 

Jinyoung smiles to himself, and returns his phone to his pocket. Soon enough he will ditch Day6 for the freedom of the airport and dozens of fans running after them. But at least he won’t have to listen to Jae talk anymore.

 

Not that he needs a breather from Wonpil, but—part of him wants a breather from Wonpil. Thinking about their conversation from the night before makes him nervous, and he wishes he hadn’t said anything. It all sounds stupid, as he thinks over it, and he hopes Wonpil will never bring it up again. That is the good thing about Jaebum—he can be vulnerable with Jaebum, and count on Jaebum to act like the conversation never even happened.

 

Not that he’s comparing Wonpil to Jaebum.

 

Jinyoung bounces his head against the window and rubs at his eyes.

 

“Are you okay?” Wonpil asks.

 

“Need coffee.” Jinyoung answers automatically. He can feel Wonpil watching him, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the scenery. Beyond the bridge they’re crossing stretches the gray-blue the ocean, rocks rising out of the sea. They’ll be at the airport soon. He needs coffee and some breathing room.

 

Wonpil puts a hand on Jinyoung’s knee. Jinyoung grits his teeth. But he doesn’t snap, _I don’t want to be comforted_ , so at least there’s that.

 

When they reach the airport, a few fans and reporters have already lined up at the entrance, waiting for today’s idol fashion show to commence. Jinyoung hesitates as the others start climbing out of the van. He watches Dowoon shuffle into view of the cameras, then Brian saunter in behind him, both of them waving awkwardly as the cameras start flashing. Jinyoung takes a deep breath, and puts on a medical mask.

 

He doesn’t think he imagines a special ripple of excitement when he steps out of the van. Day6 is doing well, sure, but Got7 is a bonafide international idol group, underperforming singles and all. Of course Jinyoung is going to garner more attention than the rest.

 

He stops on the pavement and waves at the cameras, counting up the time in his head. Wonpil has already reached the airport doors and he turns to look at Jinyoung, brushing his hair back with one hand, and when their eyes meet, Jinyoung feels his stomach drop. That look on Wonpil’s face might well show up in pictures, spawning dozens of theories about why Jinyoung was in Day6’s van. The last thing Jinyoung needs is the world correctly guessing the facts about his dating life. In-group relationships can be marketed as romantic infatuation _and_ explained away as platonic affection all in the same breath. He’s not confident he and Wonpil would get away with the same.

 

Wonpil smiles. Jinyoung blinks, and shifts his eyes onto another section of cameras.

 

By the time Jinyoung gets inside the terminal, Wonpil has gotten into the ticket line to accompany his manager. Jinyoung can hear noise at the opposite end of the building that can only mean Twice is going through security. He checks his phone and sees that Yugyeom has texted _Grabbed your phone charger don’t worry hyung~_ The security guard is eyeing him, as though Jinyoung has some responsibility for the frenzied photo-taking going on around them, but he can’t spot the rest of Day6 and he should wait for his band to arrive, anyway, so he stands beside a fountain and ignores the semi-circle that forms around him and the annoyed security guard. Really, the crowd isn’t that bad, probably because the Got7 fans weren’t expecting him, and are still arriving or waiting outside. Jinyoung sits down on a bench.

 

The crowd parts, and it’s Sungjin pushing his way through. The fans immediately let him—they’re Day6 fans, after all, and they want a good shot. Sungjin gestures to the empty space beside Jinyoung.

 

“Can I sit?”

 

Jinyoung nods. Sungjin sits down, rolling a water bottle in his hands. Both of them are wearing masks and the crowd has given them enough distance that they can whisper without being overheard, but Jinyoung doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. He hasn’t been in close proximity to Sungjin since Sungjin initiated his “don’t hurt Wonpil or I’ll kill you” talk, and Sungjin hasn’t tried to talk to him since, either. But he has an air of wanting to say something, so Jinyoung waits, with one eye on the airport doors in case Got7 arrives in time to rescue him.

 

Sungjin shifts to look at Jinyoung.

 

“I owe you an apology,” Sungjin says.

 

Jinyoung’s eyes snap to Sungjin. That was _not_ what he expected. At a loss for words, he just stares.

 

Sungjin shrugs and turns in the direction of the ticket line, where a gap in the fans gives them a clear view of Wonpil and their manager in the first class line, now joined by the other three members of the band. Some of the fans abandon the circle around Jinyoung and Sungjin to rush over there.

 

“I just felt like I had to say something,” Sungjin continues. “My duty as your hyung, I guess. But I know things are different this time.”

 

Jinyoung turns back to look at him again. He still can’t believe his ears.

 

Sungjin shrugs, and tilts a smile in Jinyoung’s direction. “I’ve seen it. And if you guys are happy, I don’t want you to feel like you have to walk on glass around me.”

 

Jinyoung stares at Sungjin. When he finally finds his voice, his words come out thick. “Thanks, hyung,” he manages.

 

“I really wasn’t trying to threaten you,” Sungjin says, his eyebrows lifting. “It’s more like, you can take a scolding. It’s good for you. And someone has to watch out for Wonpil. You know he’s. . .” He trails off.

 

Jinyoung looks back to the ticket line. Wonpil is laughing at something, and his happiness radiates across the distance and the flashing cameras, a pure and soft light.

 

“Gentle,” Jinyoung supplies. He can feel Sungjin turn to look at him, but he keeps his eyes on Wonpil. “Yeah. I know.”

 

They sit like that for a moment, and then commotion draws their attention back to the airport doors. The first thing Jinyoung sees is Jaebum, his head down and hidden beneath a bucket hat, striding through the crowd.

 

“We’re good?” Sungjin asks.

 

“Yeah, we’re good,” Jinyoung smiles. He squeezes Sungjin’s shoulder, and gestures to the incoming crowd. “I’ve got to go find my manager.”

 

Sungjin nods, and Jinyoung hurries over to his band. He hands off his passport to his manager in one smooth motion as he passes, before falling in step with Mark in the back of the crowd. Cameras flash around them, and renewed calls of “Park Jinyoung” echo in the large terminal.

 

“Did you miss me?” he asks.

 

Mark snorts. “Sure.”

 

“I missed you,” Jackson says, stopping to fall back beside them. “Every night away from you feels like a piece of my soul has been ripped away.”

 

“Why’d you move out, then?” Jinyoung laughs. They all stop and huddle around the first class area as their manager retrieves the tickets. The cameras keep flashing, a bigger and more frenetic crowd than the one surrounding Day6.

 

Jackson’s grin is hidden by his mask, but evident in his eyes. “I’m a masochist, Park Jinyoung. Don’t judge my kinks.”

 

“I would never.”

 

“I would,” Mark says.

 

“Wait, what?” Bambam turns to look at them, pulling his earbuds out of his ears.

 

Jinyoung waves a hand. “Don’t ask.”

 

Bambam gives Jackson a disgusted look. Jackson immediately throws an arm around Bambam’s neck and tickles his chin, to the delight of the watching fans. After a few more minutes of standing around and ignoring the flashing cameras, their manager passes out their passports and tickets in quick succession, and Jaebum grabs his and runs off to catch up with Sungjin. Jinyoung watches as he slings his arm around Sungjin’s shoulders.

 

The river of fans starts to move toward the security line. Wonpil is just visible going through the TICKETED PASSENGERS ONLY door. Jinyoung turns back to Mark.

 

“ _Actually,_ though,” Jinyoung says, unable to restrain his smile, “You’ll never guess what I heard about Jackson last week.”

 

Mark laughs, and Jinyoung starts in on his most recent favorite bit of gossip, as cameras continue to flash.

  
  
  


 

He doesn’t catch up with Wonpil again until he’s through security and wandering through the terminal. He spots Wonpil walking into a gift shop, and ditches Youngjae at a bathroom to dash after him. He’s vaguely aware of some fans following him, but they stop outside the gift shop, snapping pictures from a distance.

 

Wonpil stands in front of a bookcase, frowning at the selection. He glances over when Jinyoung walks up to him, then back to the books, without any sign of acknowledgment. Jinyoung stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets and pauses.

 

“You okay?” he asks.

 

Wonpil shrugs. “Sure.”

 

Wonpil abandons the books for a display of stuffed animals. Jinyoung doesn’t have a choice but to follow him, but he winds slowly through the aisle, so that it won’t look like he’s chasing him.

 

“Wonpil,” he says.

 

Wonpil looks over at him. “What?” he asks, his voice devoid of emotion.

 

Something snaps in Jinyoung. He knows he should be the patient, considerate boyfriend. If something is wrong, he should discuss the issue in a reasonable, methodical manner. But screw that—Jinyoung is sick of pretending.

 

“You know, I hate it when you do this,” he says, the words flying out of his mouth.

 

Wonpil freezes in the middle of picking up an alligator plushie. “Do what?”

 

“Turn into robot Wonpil,” Jinyoung says. It’s the first time he’s ever said those words out loud, but it feels _great_ , because he _hates_ robot Wonpil. His heart is beating fast, now, but to hell with it all.

 

“Robot Wonpil?” Wonpil sets down the plushie and turns to face him.

 

“Yes, robot Wonpil,” Jinyoung gestures with his hands still in his pockets, each side of his jacket flapping with the motion. “This thing that you do when you’re mad at me but you won’t say why, so you just shut down and shut me out—god, I _hate_ robot Wonpil.”

 

Wonpil’s eyebrows lift. “Sorry that I take the time to work through my feelings by myself before I dump them on you. I didn’t realize it was so _offensive_.”

 

“It’s not about that. I poured my heart out to you last night, like a real tool—”

 

“Keep your voice down.”

 

“—And you can act like I’m not even here?” Jinyoung isn’t even sure what he’s saying, at this point, but he’s getting angrier by the second. When _was_ the last time Wonpil shared anything significant with him? Why does Wonpil get to be the emotionally stable one, the saint putting up with Jinyoung’s problems? It’s not like Wonpil doesn’t have problems of his own. Just because Jinyoung was the one who cheated, doesn’t mean he’s got to pay penance every day for the rest of time.

 

Wonpil glares at him for a long moment.

 

“Fine. You want to do this now? In this gift shop?” Wonpil glances out the door, where fans are still taking pictures. They both turn in unison to put their backs to the fans. “Maybe I’m upset because the first thing you did when we got to the airport was get as far away from me as you could—”

 

“That’s not fair. I had to join my group!”

 

“They weren’t here yet!” Wonpil picks up a green Okcat plushie and glares at it.

 

“They were _coming_ ,” Jinyoung retorts, pushing out of his mind the memory of avoiding Wonpil’s eyes. Now is not the time to admit to being afraid of the public sniffing out their relationship. He especially doesn’t want to give Wonpil that leverage, and have his own valid points swept under the rug as a result.

 

“And you know what,” Wonpil continues, “You act like you’re always so open with me but it’s not true!” Wonpil’s volume rises dangerously. “Yesterday, okay, I was really glad you shared with me. _Really_ glad. But it’s like, once we started dating you stopped telling me all this stuff and started only telling your friends—”

 

“What gives you _that_ idea?”

 

“I feel like I’m trying so hard to be happy and supportive _for you_ and it’s still not good enough.”

 

Wonpil is still holding the Okcat doll, staring it down like some angelic version of Taecyeon is going to float down from the sky and give them the answers they need. Something about Wonpil’s accusations grates on Jinyoung—there’s a part of them that he knows is _true_. He used to share everything with Wonpil; now he ends up talking about Wonpil with Jaebum. But the fact that Wonpil has just landed a solid hit just makes him all the more angry.

 

“I don’t know how you can say all this to me,” Jinyoung says in a low voice, “When you couldn’t even be bothered to _mention_ that you were dating someone else this year.”

 

It’s a low blow, pulling that one out. Jinyoung hadn’t even realized he’d been saving it for such a time as this. Wonpil’s head shoots up.

 

“Who told you that?”

 

“Well, it wasn’t _you_ , was it?”

 

“Do you want to know why that guy dumped me?” Wonpil says with gritted teeth. His gaze is cold now. “It’s because he thought I was still in love with _you_.”

 

They stare at each other for a long moment. Deeply buried pain shines through Wonpil’s eyes, and Jinyoung wants to say _something_ —but he doesn’t know what to say. His cheeks are still flushed with anger, and he can’t decide whether to lash out again or apologize.

 

Wonpil holds up the Okcat doll. “I’m going to buy this.”

 

He brushes past Jinyoung to head to the checkout counter.

 

“Taecyeon doesn’t need you doing ads for him,” Jinyoung groans.

 

Wonpil just pulls out his wallet. “You can leave.”

 

Jinyoung stares at the rows of Okcat dolls and takes a deep breath. Then he catches up to Wonpil, and waits while he pays. Wonpil says thank you to the cashier, then turns to Jinyoung, glaring at him with so much anger and hurt mixed up together, Jinyoung almost wishes he could take it all back. But he doesn’t, at the same time. He said what needed to be said, and if Wonpil can’t deal with that, then it’s not Jinyoung’s problem.

 

“We have to leave together,” Jinyoung explains. He nods a head in the direction of the fans outside the shop. “Unless you want them wondering why we’re fighting.”

 

Wonpil looks at the fans, then rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

  
  
  


 

They reach the waiting area at their gate with a cloud of fans hovering behind them. Jinyoung marvels, for the thousandth time, that anyone would spend so much money just to watch him walk through an airport. He scans the seats for anyone he knows; Twice is clustered near the windows, but Jinyoung isn’t interested in the fan uprising he might incur if he goes to talk to them.

 

Wonpil breaks away from his side and heads toward a section of chairs on their left. Jinyoung glances over and discovers that he’s heading directly for Jaebum, who is sitting there looking at his cell phone. Jinyoung’s heart skips a beat, and—well, about the only thing he can do is follow Wonpil over.

 

Wonpil reaches Jaebum and slides into the seat next to him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Jinyoung hasn’t actually seen Wonpil and Jaebum talk since the incident, but there Wonpil sits smiling, out of range for Jinyoung to hear what he’s saying. Jaebum grins back at him, and Wonpil hands him the Okcat doll.

 

“—Wooyoung’s gonna be like,” Jaebum is saying as Jinyoung walks up. He shifts into a weird falsetto. “—After all I’ve done for you kids, I can’t believe you would give free advertising to Taecyeon!” He bobs the Okcat doll’s head back and forth as he talks.

 

“Why do you make Wooyoung sound like that?” Jinyoung asks.

 

Both Wonpil and Jaebum stop and look up at him, smiles frozen on their faces. Nobody says anything. Jinyoung swears that Jaebum—cool, unconcerned Jaebum—actually looks _nervous_.

 

“It’s, um,” Jaebum manages. “How he sounds in my head.”

 

They all stare at each other for a beat. Jinyoung licks his lips and tries to think of what else to say. Then, they’re miraculously rescued from having to say anything else by Jackson and Sungjin, who come in to complete the circle, totally oblivious to the silence between the other three.

 

“Okay, so, guys,” Jackson says as Sungjin flops into the other chair next to Jaebum. “There’s this restaurant I want to take you to. It’s like a hundred years old, but it might be one thousand honestly—you walk in and it’s like, whoa, time warp! But the government is repossessing the building, so next time I get back to Hong Kong, it’s going to be closed. Do you guys want to go tonight?”

 

“Oh, is it a noodle place?” Sungjin asks. “I think Jae was reading about it online.”

 

“Yeah, I bet it’s the same! Does Jae want to go? But if we get more than like six people, we’re never going to get a table. It’s a hole-in-the-wall type deal.”

 

As Jackson keeps chattering about the restaurant, Jinyoung and Jaebum exchange a look that means _if Jae goes I’m not going._ Jinyoung smiles, and Jaebum’s eyebrows raise in understanding. They both still agree that nobody can kill a vibe faster than Park Jaehyung.

 

Wonpil, though, is looking at them. He looks back and forth between both of them, scowls, and then says, “I want Jae to come with us.”

 

Jackson stops in the middle of his sentence and looks at Wonpil. Sungjin sits up in his chair, too, obviously confused.

 

“Yeah, Jae can come,” Jackson says, glancing at Jinyoung, who just shrugs.

 

“Good.” Wonpil slides back into his seat. Jinyoung avoids looking at Jaebum again, in case Wonpil notices. He’s not sure what all this means, but he’s pretty sure their fight isn’t over yet.

  
  
  


 

On the plane, Brian volunteers to switch seats with Jinyoung, so that Jinyoung can sit next to Wonpil. He says it loudly enough that Jinyoung doesn’t even have time to gauge what Wonpil thinks about this plan, because other people are already looking at them, and Brian is throwing his stuff into the seat next to Bambam. And grinning too, like he’s just done Jinyoung a massive favor. So Jinyoung smiles, grabs his stuff, and moves back in the cabin. Wonpil doesn’t even look up while he puts his bag into the compartment beneath the seat.

 

“Why don’t you like Jae?” Wonpil asks suddenly as Jinyoung sits down.

 

Jinyoung glances around the cabin, wary of anyone who might spread their conversation. Next to them, Tzuyu has already fallen asleep with her earbuds in her ears. Nayeon and Jeongyeon are in front of them talking, and Jae is far at the front of the section, watching something on his seat screen with Dowoon.

 

“Nobody likes Jae,” Jinyoung says finally.

 

“He’s my friend.”

 

“Okay? He’s still obnoxious.”

 

Wonpil doesn’t say anything, but begins tapping on his seat screen so hard that the buttons don’t register. Jinyoung restrains himself from rolling his eyes.

 

“You used to think Jae was obnoxious too, you know.”

 

“I changed my mind.”

 

Jinyoung closes his eyes. Opens them. A flight attendant hands him a hot towel over his shoulder and he grips it, wishing he could rub it over his face without having to re-do his BB cream later.

 

“Why are we fighting about this?” Jinyoung asks, looking over at Wonpil.

 

Wonpil purses his lips and then jerks toward Jinyoung. “Because you always do this!” he hisses. “If you don’t like someone, then nobody should like them—”

 

“When did I say that you shouldn’t like Jae? I don’t care if you’re friends with Jae, he’s in your band—”

 

“And if it’s not _your_ problem, then it’s not important—”

 

“What problems do you want to talk about, Wonpil? This is a two-way street here! I can’t just guess—”

 

“And if it’s not something _you_ care about, then there’s no time for it—”

 

“Is this about whatever you wanted to talk about last night? I was half asleep!”

 

Wonpil groans and leans his head against the back of his seat. Jinyoung starts to say something, but the flight attendant walks by again, and he takes the cups of water she offers and puts one on Wonpil’s tray.

 

“What did you want to talk about, Wonpil?” Jinyoung asks, forcing his voice into a gentle tone.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it now.”

 

“Fine.” Jinyoung intends to leave it at that, but he can’t. He has to make Wonpil understand—he doesn’t exactly know _what_ , at this point, but dammit, he’s got to regain some ground here. “I can’t believe you think this is unfair when I’m the one who’s always rearranging my schedule to make time for _you_.”

 

“Me?” Wonpil says, forgetting to whisper. “We’re on tour now. Sorry I can’t rearrange a _tour_.”

 

“Somehow I can rearrange my comeback schedule, though!”

 

“I barely saw you when _you_ were on tour!”

 

“We weren’t even dating then!” Jinyoung cries. Tzuyu stirs in her seat and he pauses, but she doesn’t open her eyes.

 

Wonpil groans. “You have to make some accommodations for my schedule, Jinyoung, just like I do yours—”

 

“It’s not the same!”

 

“How is it not the same?”

 

“Because your band is _not_ the same as my band,” Jinyoung says.

 

Wonpil laughs in shock. “Why? Because we all still live together?”

 

“No, it’s because you’re overly embedded in each other’s lives,” Jinyoung shoots back.

 

Wonpil rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who says, ‘Got7 is my family—’”

 

“Yeah, and like with my real family, I can have a social life that doesn’t involve them!”

 

“We’re _on tour—”_

 

“Sorry if I don’t want to go on the Day6 World Tour: Codependency is Fun!” Jinyoung spreads his hands out, miming the concert marquee.

 

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Wonpil laughs bitterly.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“You know what it means!”

 

Jinyoung is pretty sure it means, specifically, Jaebum. But before he gets a chance to say anything, Jeongyeon stands up in front of them and spins around.

 

“Can you guys save this,” she hisses, “Until you’re, I don’t know, _not on this plane?_ ”

 

Wonpil says, “Yes, we can,” at the exact same moment as Jinyoung says, “Sit _down_ , Jeongyeon.”

 

He knows his tone was too harsh when both Wonpil and Jeongyeon freeze.

 

Jeongyeon glances around the plane. Then she flips him off, and sits down.

 

“I’m going to sleep now,” Wonpil says. He puts his earbuds in his ears and turns away from Jinyoung.

 

Jinyoung grips the arms of his chair and waits for the plane to take off. He doesn’t want this to head to a break up with Wonpil but—well, he sure wants to make his damn point. He doesn’t know where Wonpil gets off, accusing _him_ of codependency when Jinyoung can barely convince him to take a breather from all his friends for them to get time alone. Maybe if Wonpil could see his point of view, they’d actually have a chance to talk about everything wrong with them, as a couple and as individuals, without it blowing up into an argument on a plane.

 

Thinking about it, Jinyoung is sure he’s in the right, this time. He consoles himself with this and leans back in his chair, determined to sleep off the anger and find a better occasion to hash this out again.

  
  
  


 

They get off the plane, check in to the hotel, and go off to rehearsals without either Jinyoung or Wonpil so much as saying a word. Jinyoung notices people looking at them at every stop, but he gets onto the tour bus and takes a seat at the very front, citing motion sickness, because he knows Sana will say the same thing. Sure enough she takes the seat next to him before Wonpil even gets on the bus, and as Jinyoung is already busy looking at photos with her on her phone, he gets away with pretending not to notice Wonpil ignore him.

 

He’s fiddling with his microphone pack as he wanders around backstage at rehearsals when he turns a corner and spots Nayeon and Mark deep in conversation. Both of them have their arms folded and they’re talking in whispers, with matching bewildered looks on their faces. Somehow, Jinyoung already has the feeling that they’re talking about him before they notice him and both their expressions turn to wide smiles of guilt.

 

“Jinyoung-oppa,” Nayeon says with very fake aegyo as he walks up. “Listen, I know you’re going through a rough time, right now.” She pats his arm. “But I need you to apologize to Jeongyeon.”

 

Jinyoung blinks. “Apologize to Jeongyeon?”

 

Nayeon raises her eyebrows and grins. “Mm-hmm. See, right now she _hates_ you.”

 

“That seems like a bit of an overreaction.”

 

“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t lose another boy group! I’m already banned from playing BTS’s _entire_ discography. All of it.”

 

“Your life is very hard, Nayeon.”

 

“So you’ll apologize?”

 

Jinyoung sighs. “Sure.”

 

“Great. I appreciate it.” She squeezes his arm and this time he gets the impression that she’s sincere. “I hope things—work out okay.”

 

“It’ll be fine.” Jinyoung manages to smile, not entirely convinced by what he’s saying. Nayeon gives him a thin smile, says goodbye to Mark, and then disappears down the hall.

 

Jinyoung looks at Mark. “So—”

 

“She was giving me a play-by-play of your argument.” Mark ruffles his hair, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

 

Jinyoung exhales heavily and leans against the wall. “I guess I’m just that interesting, huh?”

 

Mark leans against the wall next to him. “Do you, um,” he says, “Want to like, talk about it? Or something?”

 

“What’s there to say?”

 

“I dunno. But it’s pretty weird seeing you—not work things out?” Mark squints at him, half-smiling. “You’re pretty great with people, you know?”

 

“Wonpil says I’m faking.”

 

“Oh.” Mark frowns and bounces lightly against the wall. “I mean—not to bring this up, but—he was pretty hurt before when you—you know—”

 

“Kissed someone else.” Jinyoung grimaces. “Yeah.”

 

“So my guess is—based on many years of fighting with all of you—that he feels intimidated. You know? Like this time, he’s got to be good enough to keep you around.”

 

Jinyoung blinks, looking over at Mark. “How does that even make sense?” He says it, but he’s pretty sure Mark is onto something. And here Jinyoung was, thinking he was the only one with looks _and_ brains in his band.

 

“Again, I don’t know everything, but based on what Nayeon said, he’s not talking to you about his feelings because he’s afraid if he isn’t perfect, you’re going to walk away.” Mark shrugs. “He’s not a perfectionist, not like you, but he _feels_ everything, you know? He’s Onefeel.”

 

Jinyoung rolls his eyes, amused by Mark bringing up his old nicknames. Still—he may not like what Mark is saying, but it does explain a lot. “So I’m the jerk.”

 

“That’s not what I said.” Mark leans against him, just close enough to be of some comfort. “You’re really good with people, Jinyoung. But sometimes, you’re so good at getting your own way that you don’t even realize you’re doing it.”

 

“Huh.” Jinyoung tries to think back over the past years, looking for any indication that Mark might be right. Somehow, it makes sense. “That’s—harsh.”

 

“You asked, bro.” Mark pushes himself away from the wall.

 

“So,” Jinyoung says, feeling odd asking for advice. “What do you think I should do?”

 

“Talk to him, I guess?”

 

Jinyoung sighs. “Everything seems to require a conversation, doesn’t it?”

 

Mark just shrugs. “I mean, my first suggestion was going to be to get him in bed, but—I don’t know if that’s going to solve your problems, this time.”

 

Jinyoung laughs. “Yeah, maybe not.”

  
  
  


 

Jaebum isn’t in the hotel room when Jinyoung gets back. Jinyoung stands in the middle of the room, looking at the Hong Kong city lights out the window. He should go talk to Wonpil now—wants to, even. Now that the day is over with, he just feels weary, wanting more to just apologize and curl up in bed than to continue their fight.

 

Someone pounds on the door. “Park Jinyoung! Are you going to my noodle place or not?”

 

Jinyoung opens the door. Jackson stands on the other side, with Yugyeom leaning into the doorframe next to him, both looking at Jinyoung expectantly.

 

“Is Wonpil going?” Jinyoung asks.

 

Jackson gives him a nervous smile. “Which answer is more likely to convince you to go with us?”

 

“Neither, honestly.”

 

“Okay, well, he’s not. Brian and Yugyeom are, now, so if you’re out then I’m finding another replacement.”

 

Jinyoung grabs his keycard out of its slot in the lightswitch. “Find a replacement, Jackson.”

 

Jackson nods and turns to wander down the hall. Yugyeom stands still for a second, then pats Jinyoung awkwardly on the back.

 

“Good luck, hyung,” he says with a sweet smile.

 

Jinyoung nods, hoping his worry doesn’t show through. He walks the opposite way down the hall, toward Wonpil’s room. It’s on the other side of the building, past the elevators, and he has to sneak past a group of other industry people he only vaguely recognizes. When he finally finds the room, Jinyoung hesitates, hoping Sungjin isn’t inside—he just got an apology. He’d rather not lose it.

 

Finally, he knocks on the door.

 

Wonpil opens it almost immediately, like he was expecting him. They look at each other, neither saying anything. Jinyoung opens his mouth.

 

“I’m sorry,” Wonpil says first. “You were right about a lot of things.”

 

Jinyoung closes his mouth. He doesn’t know what to say.

 

Wonpil still hasn’t stepped back to let him in, so he leans against the door frame and waits.

 

Wonpil looks out at the hall. Jinyoung notices that his eyes are red, and maybe he’s been crying. That feels like a kick in the gut, but Jinyoung knows better than to try to touch Wonpil, right now.

 

“I think we have a lot of things to talk about,” Wonpil says.

 

“Yeah,” Jinyoung says.

 

Wonpil’s gaze shifts to the floor. “But maybe not tonight.”

 

“That’s fine.”

 

“I’m just really tired.” He finally looks at Jinyoung, his eyes glistening.

 

“Did you want to tell me—whatever you were trying to tell me yesterday?”

 

Wonpil shakes his head. “Another time.” He reaches out, his fingers just brushing Jinyoung’s cheek. Jinyoung shivers.

 

“We can talk tomorrow, then,” Jinyoung says. He’s not really ready for Wonpil to close the door. It feels too final, like if they don’t discuss things now, they’ll never really fix anything. But he can’t deny that Wonpil looks pale and exhausted. Maybe things really will be better, tomorrow. Maybe Jinyoung will finally manage to tell the truth, whatever it is.

 

Wonpil leans forward and presses a gentle kiss against Jinyoung’s lips. “Get some rest,” he says.

 

He steps back and closes the door. Jinyoung stands there, staring once again at its gold-plated numbers, wondering what choices he could have made that didn’t end with him standing out in the hall.

  
  
  


 

Jinyoung goes back to his room and throws himself onto his bed, without bothering to turn on the lights. He lies very still, under city lights rippling through the window, staring at the ceiling and trying not to feel anything at all. He will be fine, with or without Wonpil.

 

Chances are they can resolve this—and it’s probably the best choice for him to go back tomorrow morning, stand outside Wonpil’s door with a cup of coffee and an apologetic smile. His only problem with the scenario in his head is the part where he has to say, _I’m sorry_ , and really mean it. He never signed up for a relationship with robot Wonpil, after all. They got back together because Jinyoung called him up one day and said “I miss you. I hate how things are now. Can we just talk?”

 

One thing led to another, and the conversation Jinyoung intended to restore their friendship rekindled something else altogether. Now here he is, lying alone on his bed in the aftermath of a fight, wishing he could take it all back just to get rid of the ache in his chest. Maybe relationships aren’t worth it. Maybe he’d be better off just declaring his love to the fans.

 

Frustrated, he pushes himself out of bed and fumbles toward his suitcase. He pulls out a blue swim shirt—no way is he going to the hotel pool shirtless; no way of knowing who might see him—and some swim trunks. Supposedly, this hotel has a stunning rooftop pool. Swimming some laps might do him some good.

  
  
  


 

The view on the rooftop is as stunning as promised. The city spreads out around him in every direction, lit up in a hundred electric colors. The sky above is a dark haze, dotted with airplanes and satellites. A few people sit around the pool—a group of well-dressed foreigners with champagne, a man teaching his two daughters how to swim, a bored-looking hotel employee, a middle-aged man smoking a cigar alone. Jinyoung dives in, shedding his worries as he slips through the water.

 

He emerges on the far end of the pool, where he spots a hot tub hidden in an odd corner. Jaebum sits there, arms spread across the sides, staring out at the cityscape. Everything indicates he should be left alone, especially the way he stops to run a palm over his face. Even from a distance, Jinyoung can tell he shouldn’t invade his space.

 

But Jinyoung doesn’t always do what he should.

 

He pulls himself out of the pool and, dripping, walks across the wooden poolside to the hot tub. Jaebum looks over as he approaches, his expression inscrutable, but not angry.

 

“You didn’t go to Jackson’s restaurant?” he asks.

 

Jinyoung shakes his head and gestures to the hot tub. Jaebum immediately slides over to make room for him and Jinyoung climbs in, settling into the low seat, hot water up to his chest. Here the city gleams even more brightly, with nothing but a low wall separating them from the view.

 

“You okay?” Jaebum asks. “I heard you and Wonpil had a fight. On the plane.”

 

Jinyoung laughs a little, trying to seem unconcerned, and pushes wet hair out of his eyes. “It’s fine. I’ll sort things out tomorrow.”

 

When he looks over, Jaebum is watching him with a frown. It’s like he can see right through all Jinyoung’s bullshit, directly into his soul. Jinyoung flinches a little, under that gaze. He’s not sure he wants Jaebum to know whatever it is he has hiding in the far corners of his heart. Jinyoung doesn’t really want to know, himself.

 

But all Jaebum says is, “Okay.” He turns to look at the view again, his face in profile, glowing in the soft city light.

 

“What about you?” Jinyoung asks. “Why are you brooding in the hotel hot tub, when you could have gone out?”

 

Jaebum grins. But it’s not a happy smile, not exactly. Something sad, less easy to understand. He runs a hand through the water, creating circles in its smooth surface.

 

“My mom called,” he says after a minute. “She went to visit my grandparents this weekend. My grandma’s memory is—gone, pretty much.” He keeps tracing circles in the water, frowning at them. “She wanted to make sure it was okay if she takes the money I send home to pay for a care facility.”

 

Jinyoung waits for a moment, unsure of what to say. In the face of this information, his own fight with Wonpil feels petty and unreal, the concerns of children, while Jaebum lives in the world of adults. It’s always a little bit like this, though. Jaebum, the fast 1994-liner. Jaebum, the leader. Jaebum, always too far up the road.

 

“Are you okay?” Jinyoung asks.

 

Jaebum shrugs, slapping the water lightly. “Yeah. It’s not really my decision to make.” He screws up his mouth, then his eyes flick to Jinyoung’s. “It’s just at time like these that I wonder what I’m doing with my career.”

 

“Following your dreams.”

 

Jaebum laughs. “Yeah. That’s _true_ , you know. But—maybe it would be better if I could just _be_ there. Be present. Sometimes I feel like we’re moving so _fast_ , I don’t even know who I am in the middle of it all.”

 

Jinyoung stays very still, his eyes on Jaebum.

 

“You remember when we were trainees?” He tilts a smile in Jaebum’s direction. “You said, I know who Im Jaebum is. Nobody is going to change me!”

 

Jaebum grins—a real smile, this time. “What was that about? I don’t remember.”

 

“Choreography,” Jinyoung laughs. “They wanted you to do some cheesy thing for a showcase, I think. And you were like, ‘I’m a b-boy! I can’t do that!’”

 

“I probably ended up doing it, didn’t I?”

 

“Probably.”

 

Jaebum laughs, leaning back against the side of the hot tub. “I don’t even remember that.”

 

Jinyoung puts his arms up on the side of the hot tub, too. This way, their elbows are just touching—not close enough to make Jaebum move away, but enough for Jinyoung to gauge the distance between them. If he wanted to, he could lean in close, move into Jaebum’s space. He’s not thinking about it.

 

“We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?” Jaebum asks. He shakes his head at the skyline, marveling at it.

 

An image of the two of them in a music video snaps into Jinyoung’s mind. Sometimes he’s not sure where the fantasy ends, and the reality begins.

 

“We’re doing okay, you know,” Jinyoung says.

 

“Even if we’re still in our _Dark World_ era?” Jaebum laughs.

 

“Even if.” Jinyoung smiles back.

 

There is a moment, brief but undeniable, when warning bells sound in Jinyoung’s head. He has been here before, made this mistake before. Last time it started just like this—he and Jaebum were talking. Jinyoung saw his opportunity and seized it. Wonpil walked in the door. Jinyoung ended up alone.

 

There is no reason to believe that making the same mistake again would bring him a different ending. Heart pounding, Jinyoung knows he should walk away.

 

He leans forward instead, moving through the water and into Jaebum’s space. He takes his face in both palms and, very carefully, presses his lips against Jaebum’s.

 

Neither of them move. Jaebum’s mouth is still under his, unresponsive. The city shudders around them, distant and cold. Jinyoung listens to Jaebum’s breathing, his heart pounding in his ears. He’s made a mistake.

 

But then Jaebum’s lips part, sliding to answer Jinyoung’s. Jinyoung pushes forward, tilting his chin into the kiss, whispering his tongue across his lips. The soft glide of their tongues sends shivers down his spine.

 

Then Jaebum stops. Pushes him away. Jinyoung leans back to see his wide eyes, hardened expression.

 

“We can’t do this again,” Jaebum says. He looks as though Jinyoung had slapped him across his face.

 

In a smooth motion, Jaebum pushes himself out of the hot tub, his white t-shirt clinging to every rivulet of muscle across his back. Jinyoung watches him climb out, grab a towel, and disappear into the hotel.

 

He sits for a minute, staring out at the city. And then he climbs out, grabbing a towel and rushing after Jaebum.

 

He winds through the halls, dripping across the floor, forcing himself not to run. In the elevator he looks at himself in the mirror, pale and shivering in the cold. He looks away, turning to watch the doors open. Finally they do, and he speeds down the hall.

 

He’s almost back to his own hall when he sees Brian holding a keycard to the lock on a door. He looks up as Jinyoung passes, breaking out into a warm smile. “Hey, we missed you tonight—”

 

“Did you see which way Jaebum went?”

 

Brian’s smile falls a little. “I think i saw him heading back to your room—are you okay?”

 

“Have to talk to him,” Jinyoung says. He brushes past Brian, determined not to let too much time elapse between the time Jaebum left, and the time Jinyoung catches up to him.

 

But he stops outside their hotel room door. Once again, warning bells sound in his head. He’s done this before. Regretted it. The trouble is that with Jaebum, opportunities come so infrequently. Jinyoung never knows when he’s going to get a chance to try to make Jaebum see that what’s between them is _real_ , not just something Jinyoung made up, not just something they’d be better off forgetting. He has to do this when the opportunity presents itself. If Jaebum were a comet hurtling through the universe, Jinyoung would drop everything and run out into the street at three in the morning just for a glimpse of him shooting across the sky.

 

Jinyoung puts his keycard up, and opens the door. This time, the door will be locked.

 

He walks in slowly. The light hums on in the bathroom, but the rest of the room is dark. Jaebum sits on the edge of one of the beds, staring at something in his hands. He shed his t-shirt and sits on a towel in his swim trunks, like he intended to go to the shower, but got stuck. Jinyoung flips the deadbolt on the door.

 

The thing in Jaebum’s hands, Jinyoung discovers, is Wonpil’s Okcat doll. He must have forgotten it, too distracted by his fight with Jinyoung. Jaebum frowns at it, tilting it back and forth in his hands. Then he looks up, and the doll falls to the floor.

 

Jinyoung takes a deep breath. Now is his time to say what he needs to say. The things that have tormented him all these years. He stands in front of Jaebum, willing Jaebum to look at him. But he doesn’t, leaving Jinyoung staring at the top of his head, his heart pounding fast.

 

“For all these years,” Jinyoung says. “For _all these years_ , you’ve been pushing me away.”

 

He inhales. Exhales. Steels himself.

 

“But you know,” Jinyoung continues, “And I know, that we have something between us that isn’t like what we have with anyone else.”

 

Jaebum shifts, his head tilting up, but just a little. He doesn’t look up at Jinyoung.

 

Jinyoung reaches forward, brushing his fingers along Jaebum’s temple, under his jaw. He lifts Jaebum’s face gently, waiting until Jaebum looks at him.

 

“So stop pretending this isn’t what you want,” Jinyoung says.

 

Jaebum’s eyes flicker back and forth, but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

 

Jinyoung brushes his thumb along Jaebum’s jaw, the slightest movement of concern. Then he pushes forward, into another kiss.

 

This time, Jaebum doesn’t push him away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is fiction. It's just for fun.


	4. destiny is calling me

Jinyoung wakes up alone.

 

He blinks in the sunlight and tries to figure out where he is—what hotel room, what country, what day. Outside the window he can see a smattering of rooftops and a square of blue sky. Hong Kong.

 

With a jolt, Jinyoung sits up, his heart pounding hard.

 

The room is empty. His eyes scan across the room in search of evidence that the memories flooding his mind are real, and not the residue of a strange dream. The other bed is still neatly made. Next to him, the second pillow is dipped in the middle, an indentation from another’s head. He runs his hand over it and finds it cold.

 

Jinyoung draws his knees up to his chest and rests his elbows on top of them. He can’t process the images flashing across his mind, memories that leave his head aching and raise goosebumps on his skin. Just thinking about how Jaebum looked at him sets his heart rate off again, and really, this isn’t good for his health at all.

 

He wishes Jaebum were still here, waking up, turning over to smile and wish him a groggy _good morning—_

 

He rubs his eyes and pushes himself out of bed. No use staying here, trying to make sense of something inconceivable. There is still a chance, after all, that this was only a particularly vivid dream.

 

His foot lands in something cold and wet. Jinyoung jumps back, then realizes it’s just his damp swim trunks, discarded on the floor. He swipes up both pairs of trunks and pads into the bathroom, where he tosses them over the shower curtain rod to dry, and then turns to look at himself in the mirror.

 

The person who stares back at him doesn’t look at all like Jinyoung expects. Sometimes Jinyoung still expects a kid to stare back at him—handsome but unpolished. Determined and hopeful. Someone who is going to run after his dreams without hesitation. Instead, the guy in the mirror looks almost uncanny in his perfection. Jinyoung is as critical as they come, and he regularly identifies the flaws in his own face. The only thing he sees today is the unusual redness of his lips and a faint purple mark under his collarbone, a souvenir of the night before. At least it won’t show.

 

Jinyoung leans forward, resting his forehead against the mirror. He doesn’t know what to do. His emotions swirl in such a tangled mass that the result is only a numb feeling spreading across his chest and static in his ears.

 

Wonpil. About the only thing Jinyoung is certain of is that he will never, _never_ tell Wonpil about this.

 

Jinyoung leans back and looks at his reflection again. The ragged sound of his own breathing fills his ears.

 

After a moment, he forces himself to go through his morning routine. He brushes his teeth, washes his face, styles his hair. Rubs in BB cream, puts on his clothes, checks for wrinkles and twisted seams. Tosses random items in his suitcase.

 

Finally, he falls onto the neatly made bed with his arms behind his head, trying desperately to sort out his thoughts.

 

He never expected this to happen. But at the same time, he always assumed it would happen again—with enough time he and Jaebum, circling each other on opposite sides of the ring, would inevitably come crashing together. He _wanted_ that to happen—no use denying that. He’s always wanted Jaebum to _see_ him. Feel a ravenous longing rushing through his veins. Acknowledge him. The first time they kissed, years ago now, the moment was interrupted by Wonpil and the ensuing destruction of that relationship—one Jinyoung truly, desperately cared about. But it left him with no way to unravel the mess of his emotions regarding Jaebum.

 

Now, though—now that Jinyoung has undeniable proof that the magnetic intimacy he always thought he had with Jaebum was not, in fact, a runaway construct of his imagination—he doesn’t know what to feel. Or what to _do_.

 

Of the two options in front of him, neither seems entirely satisfactory. He could break up with Wonpil, try to pursue something with Jaebum. Or he could tell Jaebum he made a mistake, and return to Wonpil, make up, and move forward. The trouble with the first is that Jaebum still might not want what Jinyoung wants—whatever vague ideas of a passionate future he has spinning in the back of his head—and a part of him will always miss Wonpil. He knows that. The trouble with the second is, well—he’s never managed to love Wonpil without thinking about Jaebum.

 

And _Jaebum_ —

 

Jinyoung absently runs his fingers over the bruise under his collarbone. He’s not going to be able to make any decisions, lying here like some loser. And his stomach is growling.

 

He sits up again. Only one decision is still absolute: he must not tell Wonpil. Telling Wonpil would destroy him, and Jinyoung is not going to do that.

 

He gets up, grabs his breakfast ticket and the key card, and heads out the door.

  
  


 

 

The breakfast buffet is located a few floors below. Jinyoung doesn’t see anyone as he gets into the elevator and rides it down, though he keeps half-expecting to see Jaebum. He wonders what would happen if he did—would Jaebum ignore him? Or would he blush, and give him an embarrassed but charming smile? Either option seems as likely as the other. Jinyoung isn’t sure what he would do or say in return, but he can’t stop thinking about it.

 

The doors open and instead of Jaebum, it’s Tzuyu, Mina, and Momo standing on the other side. They all stop talking abruptly and stare at him with small, uncertain smiles.

 

“Morning, girls,” Jinyoung says as he exits.

 

“Morning, Jinyoung-oppa,” Mina whispers. The other two don’t say anything.

 

Jinyoung looks back at them as the doors close behind him. They’re all still watching him, with identical anxious looks on their faces. Jinyoung pauses, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Odd.

 

But there’s nothing he can do, now that the elevator is gone, so he continues into the breakfast buffet. He doesn’t see any of his band members, only a handful of Twice’s staff at one table, and some of the Stray Kids he has only met a few times at another.

 

They, too, stop talking when they see him.

 

Jinyoung slows as he walks. The kids notice him looking at them and immediately turn their heads together, pretending to look at something on one person’s phone. Jinyoung’s throat feels tight. But—there’s no way anyone could know what happened between him and Jaebum. So whatever this is about, it must be something else.

 

He heads over to the buffet and grabs a plate, then realizes Bang Chan is standing at the coffee machine. They make eye contact, but Chan immediately looks away, running a hand through his hair like he didn’t see Jinyoung at all. Jinyoung walks over.

 

“Morning.”

 

“Morning, hyung.” Chan clears his throat and stares hard at the coffee machine.

 

“Ready for today?”

 

“Yeah. Guess so.” Chan gives a nervous laugh and squints at the coffee. It has nearly reached the top of the mug, but it’s not there yet.

 

“I need to ask—are people staring at me?”

 

Chan grabs the mug, letting the remaining coffee pour into the tray below. “I better rejoin my members. You know—leader stuff.” With that he laughs again, and then rushes off. Jinyoung watches him wedge himself between two of his band members, whisper something, chug his coffee, and then rush out of the dining room.

 

Jinyoung stands still for a moment. He doesn’t like this at all.

 

But there’s nothing he can do, now, so he fills up his plate with as much protein-rich food as he can find and chooses a table in view of the door. Might as well see who is and who isn’t staring at him like he’s carrying some sort of zombie plague.

 

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Brian and Jae walk in. They both look at Jinyoung, pausing long enough to make full eye contact. Then they avert their eyes and walk all the way across the dining room, sitting at a table as far away from Jinyoung’s as they could possibly get.

 

There’s no way anyone could know about Jaebum. The very thought of it makes Jinyoung sick with worry. But they _could_ know what Jinyoung said about Jae on the plane the day before. That might be enough to incite this kind of drama, especially if Jinyoung had judged wrong and more people have changed their opinion of Jae than he realized. It must be this.

 

Jinyoung is debating on whether or not to stand up and go apologize to Jae when Mark and Jackson walk in. They scan the room, spot Jinyoung, and then walk directly towards him.

 

The looks on their faces tells him that whatever has happened, it’s not about Jae.

 

“Hey,” Jackson says with the tone of someone looking at a friend on his deathbed, “We need to talk.”

 

Jinyoung sets down his fork. “This doesn’t sound good.” His heart is beating so fast it physically hurts, but he forces himself to keep still.

 

Jackson and Mark look at each other.

 

“Before we get started,” Mark says, “I just want to say that you owe PR a _huge_ gift.”

 

“Expensive,” Jackson agrees. “Like—custom designer watches. Or really, really good wine.”

 

“They caught this before it was even a thing,” Mark says.

 

They’re both looking at him like they’re waiting for him to agree before they continue. Jinyoung doesn’t even know what to say. His heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of his chest, and he can’t quite feel his hands anymore.

 

“Okay,” he manages.

 

Jackson and Mark look at each other again.

 

“So,” Jackson says. Clears his throat. Looks at Mark.

 

“Um.” Mark pulls out his phone, but doesn’t turn it on. “I guess that um, early this morning, someone tried to sell a picture of you?”

 

“Fake picture,” Jackson interjects.

 

“Right. A fake picture.” Mark is staring at Jackson while he talks, but his eyes slowly return to the black phone screen. “And um, the company bought it before it actually went to press. So that’s good.”

 

Jinyoung doesn’t know what to think. His thoughts are like a faint ringing in his ears. “But?” he prompts.

 

“Right. So.” Jackson looks at Mark, then glances up at Jinyoung. “I guess someone in PR got the picture, and they sent it to someone on staff, and anyway, it’s been going around the company.”

 

Jinyoung manages to swallow. “But it’s fake.”

 

Mark and Jackson still won’t look at him.

 

“Yeah,” Mark says.

 

Then he clicks the phone screen on and hands it to Jinyoung.

 

It takes him a moment before his eyes can even focus on the screen. When it does come into view, Jinyoung’s heart stops.

 

The picture is mostly a fuzzy gray darkness, but the images that do show up send electricity shooting through his body. The first thing he registers is his own face in profile, undeniably his own face, perfectly illuminated by the light reflecting off the water in the hot tub. His hands are holding Jaebum’s face, and his eyes are closed. There’s no denying that the kiss they’re sharing is passionate and deep. The only saving grace is that Jaebum’s face is mostly obscured by Jinyoung’s hands.

 

But it’s definitely not Wonpil in the photo. No one would have any doubts about that.

 

“So the good thing is,” Jackson says, “That the public will _never_ see this photo.”

 

Jinyoung nods, but he can’t bring himself to say anything.

 

“The weird thing is though,” Mark continues, “This is, um. This is the pool at this hotel. So if these are look-alike actors, like the company is saying—well, that’s pretty, um. Interesting.”

 

Jinyoung can’t bring himself to look up. He’s just staring at the photo, remembering how badly he wanted Jaebum, without ever pausing to wonder if anyone else was watching them.

 

“And—the other thing is,” Jackson says, “Brian says he saw you and, uh—Jaebum coming in from the pool last night. And that you were wearing a blue swim shirt, and Jaebum was wearing a white T-shirt.”

 

“Which is weird,” Mark says, “Because—well, that’s what the people in this photo are wearing.”

 

Finally, Jinyoung looks up. Jackson and Mark are both looking at him with open, hopeful expressions, like they’re praying to whoever is listening that Jinyoung will have some sort of excuse for this. And Jinyoung should _lie_ , come up with _something_.

 

But all he can think about is Wonpil.

 

“Shit,” Jinyoung says, and shoves the heels of his hands against the table. It shudders forward a few inches, rattling his plates and sloshing water everywhere.

 

“Jinyoung—” Jackson says.

 

But Jinyoung is already running for the elevator.

  
  
  


 

He reaches Wonpil’s door minutes later and pounds his fist against it. “Wonpil!” he yells, drawing the attention of an elderly couple exiting a room down the hall. Jinyoung shifts to put his back to them. Presses the doorbell button. “Wonpil!”

 

The door swings open.

 

The first thing Jinyoung registers is that Wonpil does not look angry. He doesn’t look upset, either. He looks—like he’s running in cool neutral. Totally unaffected.

 

“Did you,” Jinyoung says, his chest heaving, “Did you—”

 

“I saw the picture.”

 

Another long pause. Wonpil blinks, his gaze steady. Jinyoung grasps at the door frame and tries to catch his breath.

 

“Wonpil, I can explain,” he says. “It’s—it’s not what it looks like, okay, it was just—”

 

“You should know,” Wonpil interrupts, “That Jaebum already came by.”

 

Jinyoung’s mind screeches to a halt.

 

He stares at Wonpil, totally uncomprehending. Jaebum—

 

“To apologize,” Wonpil says.

 

They stare at each other for a beat. Jinyoung doesn’t know what to think, much less what to say. The vague thought crosses his mind, _why didn’t I wake up earlier?_ He immediately recognizes this as a shitty and pointless train of thought, but nothing useful comes into his mind to replace it. He just keeps staring at Wonpil, like if he stands here long enough, something is going to change.

 

Wonpil steps back, pulling the door open wider. “You’d better come inside.”

 

Mute, Jinyoung steps into the room. Wonpil has already packed, and Sungjin’s stuff is nowhere to be seen, leaving only the odd signs of a room occupied and then vacated—crumpled sheets on the bed, empty water bottles on the nightstand, three crushed cans of beer in the trash can. Jinyoung sinks down onto the foot of the bed and looks up at Wonpil, who leans against the desk and folds his arms across his chest.

 

For a long time, they say nothing. Jinyoung listens to the steady click of his watch ticking forward. Wonpil looks at him. Looks out the window.

 

“You know, it’s funny,” Wonpil says softly. “I woke up this morning with a whole speech prepared for how I was going to make up with you. And next thing I know Brian is walking in with this look on his face—” Wonpil laughs, shaking his head. “I really—honestly—I thought he was going to tell me you were in the hospital, or something.”

 

Jinyoung doesn’t know what to say. He looks at his hands, picks at his nails. He can feel Wonpil looking at him, but he doesn’t dare look up.

 

“Then he shows me the picture,” Wonpil continues, “Tells me what he saw. And I thought, well, I guess that’s not surprising.”

 

Now Jinyoung can’t help but look up. He finds Wonpil’s dark eyes are still locked in that cool, dispassionate neutral. He’s not robot Wonpil, or hurt Wonpil. He looks totally, utterly numb.

 

“And then,” Wonpil says, “Next thing I know, _Jaebum_ is knocking on my door. That actually _was_ surprising. I guess I was so surprised, that I actually let him in. He apologized. Said, ‘It’s my fault, Wonpil.’ And then for a good fifteen minutes, he kept apologizing and making excuses for _you_.”

 

Wonpil laughs in disbelief, turning his head to look out the window again. “He’s not entirely wrong—I know you haven’t been in a good place lately. But I just kept thinking, why does he think he needs to apologize for you? Why do we both keep making excuses for Jinyoung? The funny thing is, the last time this happened, I was the same way. I thought it was my fault.”

 

“Wonpil—”

 

Wonpil holds up a hand. “I’m not done. Listen to me. I thought it was _my fault_. I thought, you and Jaebum have gone through things together that I’ll never understand. You have a connection that we don’t have. But if I can just try hard enough, Jinyoung will finally get that I’m here for him in a way Jaebum never will be.”

 

He laughs, and finally the apathy in his voice cracks. The way he smiles, the way his eyes are shining—it’s going to haunt Jinyoung forever.

 

Wonpil is not going to cry. But the signs of it are there. His eyebrows knit together, and he leans forward.

 

“But then I was listening to him talk and I realized, this was never about me. This was always about _you_.”

 

“Wonpil,” Jinyoung says all in a rush, “I didn’t mean to—”

 

“You meant it.”

 

“But I didn’t—everything with you wasn’t a lie, okay?” Jinyoung stands up, wishing he could reach for Wonpil, but stopping himself. “I love you. I do.”

 

Wonpil closes his eyes.

 

They stand like that, soft gray light washing in through the window, the distant noise of traffic, and Wonpil absolutely silent.

 

“I’m done, Jinyoung,” Wonpil says. He opens his eyes. “I want space. Unless we’re on the same stage, I don’t want to talk to you.”

 

Jinyoung gapes. He can’t—he can’t imagine that.

 

“Forever?” he creaks out. “Even as friends?”

 

Wonpil just shakes his head. “I don’t know yet,” he says. “And the fact that you’re asking just tells me that you still don’t get it.”

 

Wonpil turns away from him, reaching down to pull something out of his backpack. “Jaebum brought me back the Okcat,” he says, waving the doll briefly in the air. He straightens up again and holds out a hand. “So I guess all that’s left is this.”

 

As if in a trance, Jinyoung reaches out his hand. Wonpil places something cool and metallic in his palm, then steps away.

 

It’s Jinyoung’s necklace, once worn as a sign of their renewed love, now returned to remind Jinyoung forever of his guilt.

 

Still in his trance of disbelief, Jinyoung wipes at his nose with his sleeve and looks up. “I just—one thing, okay? You kept trying to talk to me about something, yesterday.”

 

Wonpil looks as if Jinyoung has struck him across the face. Of all things, this wasn’t what Jinyoung expected to get a reaction out of him.

 

But Wonpil bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling. Then he closes his eyes, shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve been—or, I was—looking at apartments. To see if—if you wanted to move in together.” Wonpil exhales heavily. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

 

Jinyoung’s heart stutters forward. A whole alternate future spreads in front of him, one where he and Wonpil are happy, stable, in love. It’s sitting there, just out of reach.

 

“No—No, it wasn’t—” Jinyoung says, his voice hoarse.

 

Wonpil looks him dead in the eyes. “Yeah. It was.”

  
  


 

 

Jinyoung finds himself back at his own room.

 

He stops and places his hand on the door, leaning forward and resting his forehead against the back of his hand. Maybe he’ll wake up, and start the day over again. Maybe he can run away from everything, skip the performance and spend the day wandering around the streets of Hong Kong until someone finds him passed out drunk on a double-decker bus, winding round and round this impossible city. Anything seems better than what he’s actually going to do: go inside his room, grab his suitcase, head to the venue, and prepare for a six hour long show recording.

 

He opens the door.

 

The room is empty, save for Jinyoung’s suitcase and phone charger still plugged into the wall. He moves through the room, wondering when Jaebum came back and packed up his stuff. This is a signal that he’s avoiding Jinyoung, which also means that nothing has really changed. This is already an exact repeat of what happened last time—they kissed, Wonpil saw, Jinyoung and Wonpil broke up, Jinyoung went to Jaebum and heard a thousand excuses for why they couldn’t so much as discuss what was between them. The only difference is that this time, everyone knows.

 

Jinyoung goes into the bathroom and pulls his swim trunks off the shower curtain rod. Then he goes back to the main room and sits in the armchair, looking out the window at a cloud drawling across the sky.

 

He never, never wanted it to end like this. If he could take back the previous night—rewind all the way back to the moment before he kissed Jaebum—he would probably do it.

 

Probably.

 

It’s the _probably_ that catches him, pulls low in his stomach, the undeniable knowledge that he’s never been strong enough to hold the reins of his own heart.

 

He leans back in the chair and finally allows himself to think about what just happened with Wonpil.

 

He closes his eyes, picturing Wonpil’s face. The way he looked at him, like Jinyoung was someone despicable, someone he only wanted to forget. All of his obsession with Jaebum fades in the absence of Wonpil. He _aches_ , just thinking about how they may never speak again.

 

In truth, nothing has changed since he was here a few hours ago, thinking about his divided heart. But somehow, he always expected that Wonpil would forgive him. That he’d be waiting to pick up the pieces when Jinyoung ran after Jaebum and returned wounded and empty-handed. And now Jinyoung has ruined that, all because he let himself forget that in his job, he’s never off the clock. Mistakes should be made in private, or not at all.

 

But what happened, happened. And now here he is, single and anxious. Missing Wonpil, but knowing that door is closed. Until he talks to Jaebum, he just doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Everything hinges on Jaebum—after all, he is the one person who’s ever held the key to Jinyoung’s rotten soul.

 

But he already has a feeling that Jaebum is going to push him away, just like before.

  
  
  


 

When Jinyoung enters the hotel lobby, fans scream and cameras flash. He puts his sunglasses on, grateful for their protection from the flashes and from the frequent glances of his labelmates. Way up by the doors, he finally spots Jaebum. He feels his heart trip, then pick itself back up.

 

Jaebum is talking to Sungjin, their postures curved together in the awkward way of two people trying not to reveal too much to the cameras. Sungjin says something, and then exits the doors, nodding and waving to the fans as he goes.

 

Even from this distance, Jinyoung can tell by the way Jaebum shoves on his sunglasses that he’s trying not to cry. He exits on Sungjin’s heels.

 

Now Jinyoung is alone. He leaves the keycard at the desk, tells the employees “thank you” with an apologetic smile and a large tip rolled up under the card. It’s about all he can do to make up for the crowds.

 

He takes a deep breath and pastes a smile on his face, then turns to the barrage of _Park Jinyoung!_ and makes his way out the doors.

  
  
  


 

In the waiting room at the venue, nobody talks. Yugyeom keeps looking at Jinyoung like he wants to say something, and Youngjae murmurs something to Jaebum that Jinyoung can’t make out. But otherwise the room is eerily silent, like no one can figure out what to say. It’s a first, for Got7. Jinyoung doesn’t dare break the silence, but he keeps looking at Jaebum, waiting for his chance to force him to have a conversation.

 

After a long period of silence, Jaebum stalks out of the room without a word. He slams the door behind him on the way out. All eyes turn to Jinyoung, then dart away. Jinyoung, choking on his own misery, doesn’t even bother to try to diffuse the situation. As if he has a clue what he’s supposed to do, anyway.

 

Jinyoung turns to Youngjae, who is about the only person he figures no one will force to take sides. “Come find me when they’re done, can you?” he asks quietly, inclining his head toward the hair and makeup team. Youngjae just nods.

 

Jinyoung leaves the room, knowing that as soon as the door closes behind him, the rest will start sharing their opinions. Loudly. Maybe the staff would have been happier with the silence.

 

He winds through the halls, avoiding the questioning stares of artists and staff from other companies. He doubts the picture would get sent out of the JYPE circles, based on an unspoken but absolute rule that you take care of your own. But rumors spread fast in the industry, and nothing spreads faster than a rumor that one artist just cheated on another artist with his own band member. From the outside looking in, he’s living some sordid drama.

 

From the inside, he’s just desperate to find Jaebum.

 

He finds him in a back hallway, sitting on the floor. He’s cross legged, his hands on his knees, staring at the wall like he’s searching for enlightenment. Or maybe he’s just defeated. Jinyoung could lose himself, staring at the slope of his nose and the hard set of his eyes.

 

“Can we talk?”

 

Jaebum looks up at him. In the flickering fluorescent lights, he appears younger and thinner than normal, less like an idol and more like a man.

 

Jaebum sighs and shakes his head. “Jinyoung, I’m going to fix this—I just haven’t figured out how.”

 

Jinyoung shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and considers this. “Jaebum,” he says carefully, “Why do you think this is your problem to fix?”

 

“I made a mistake.” Jaebum shoves a hand through his unstyled hair. His expression is so apologetic, it makes Jinyoung shaky. That expression implies regret. While Jinyoung may have many regrets, he doesn’t like seeing his guilt reflected back at him from Jaebum, because it feels an awful lot like the beginning of rejection.

 

“I know,” Jinyoung says, keeping his voice steady and cold. “I was _there_ , in case you’ve forgotten.”

 

Jaebum looks at him, his eyes wavering. His jaw goes a little slack, evidence that he’s thinking about the night before. At least he remembers something.

 

Then he shakes his head. “I should have stopped things—”

 

“But you didn’t,” Jinyoung says, standing over him. “Because you didn’t want to.”

 

Frustration builds in his chest. He expected this from Jaebum, the sudden snap from passion to prudence. But hearing it—hearing it feels like Jaebum would take it all back. Jinyoung might take back the timing, the location, but he wouldn’t undo everything. He wouldn’t undo the moment when he finally saw Jaebum acknowledge what was between them all these years.

 

Jaebum shakes his head. But he doesn’t say anything.

 

Jinyoung closes his eyes and counts to ten. With every second, memories flash across his mind’s eye. Him and Jaebum as teens, fighting backstage. Him and Jaebum on stage, shouting into the crowd. A hundred blurry nights falling asleep in a van or a hotel bed or on the living room floor. A thousand times Jaebum decided he needed to be his own idea of “the hyung” and take care of Jinyoung.

 

He opens his eyes and finds Jaebum staring hard at the opposite wall, his eyes shining. Jaebum mostly cries when he’s angry, but Jinyoung doesn’t know what emotion is driving this. He slides down beside him, far enough away that no passerby is going to go running back to the waiting room to drop the juicy bit of gossip _I saw them cuddling_ or something equally ridiculous.

 

Jaebum takes a breath. Exhales. Jinyoung tries to ignore the way even this sends shivers across his skin.

 

“People keep asking, how could Jinyoung do that to Wonpil?” Jaebum pinches the bridge of his nose. “But how could _I_ do that to Wonpil? He’s my friend, too.”

 

Jinyoung could point out right now how easily they both pushed Wonpil out of their minds. It’s always so _easy_ , letting his world zero down to only Jaebum. He can feel it happening right now, the desperate pulsing in his veins to make Jaebum focus on him, to bring his attention back on him. He’s never really realized before now what that might look like from the outside, but then, no one else but Wonpil ever really knew.

 

Jaebum shakes his head. “You know, I cheated too. Just because I’m not in love with her, doesn’t make it okay.”

 

Jinyoung’s eyes snap up. He'd completely forgotten that Jaebum was dating anyone. The thought had never once crossed his mind. Now he remembers, or realizes, that Jaebum has entire spheres of his life that don’t include Jinyoung at all. He hates the way that feels, Jaebum’s other reality forcing its way into Jinyoung’s. Maybe it really is that easy for Jaebum to push Jinyoung away. Maybe he doesn’t even have to try, and the previous night was an aberration, not a culmination of years of suppressed attraction. Jinyoung hates how likely this feels.

 

“I think we’re past the point of okay,” Jinyoung says hoarsely.

 

Jaebum isn’t looking at him. He rests his head back against the wall, shaking it back and forth slowly, so that his hair falls into his eyes.

 

“I should have stopped things,” Jaebum says again.

 

“Again—you didn’t,” Jinyoung says. Licks his lips and steels himself to tell the truth. Or at least, what he hopes is the truth. “Because you didn’t want to.”

 

Jaebum finally looks up. Jinyoung can see something quivering there, something so secret even Jaebum won’t acknowledge it.

 

He knows Jinyoung is right. He has to know Jinyoung is right.

 

But his eyes flick away. He clears his throat.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Jaebum says. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be thinking ahead. Seeing the big picture.”

 

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “You’re not the leader _all the time_ , you know that?”

 

Jaebum looks over at him. Shifts a little, so that he can really make his point. Jinyoung can see it coming all the way down the road, and he doesn’t want to hear it, but he has to know what Jaebum is thinking. So he just waits, clenching his hands in his pockets, watching Jaebum.

 

“Do you remember how we used to fight?” Jaebum asks, very softly. “When we formed Got7, I was scared. I was really scared. I thought, if me and Jinyoung can sort ourselves out, then we’re going to be okay. But if we act like we did in JJ Project, we’re going to screw this up. Things were just so— _intense_. You know?”

 

Jinyoung wants to reach out and shake him. _Of course_ things were intense. Jinyoung was infatuated already, spinning in his own obsession, and Jaebum didn’t care. Every passive-aggressive statement or petty argument was like a red-hot iron to Jinyoung’s raw and swollen heart.

 

But all he says is, “I remember.”

 

Jaebum nods. “But we were okay. I know I was an asshole more than half the time, but we were okay.” He closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair again. “Then when we—when we kissed, that first time, I realized we could screw up in ways that I hadn’t even contemplated.”

 

Jinyoung wants to protest. He wants to say that it wouldn’t be a screw up at all, it would be the very thing he’s needed all this time—but he can’t open his mouth. It’s like he’s frozen, fixated on what Jaebum will or won’t say. He just waits.

 

“And I’ve been trying and trying to hold the line,” Jaebum says, “because I thought that it was my job to make sure that neither of us gave into any bad ideas. But then last night I thought, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’ve just been hurting you by holding out on some unnecessary standard.”

 

“That wasn’t just about me,” Jinyoung says, finding his voice. “Or about your—your fears of what might happen to our careers. Last night you finally let yourself _feel_ something—”

 

“And how did that turn out?” Jaebum demands.

 

His eyes go wide, like he’s pleading. He looks at Jinyoung, each second thick and unbearable. Jinyoung doesn’t have an answer for this.

 

“How did that turn out,” Jaebum repeats, softer this time.

 

Jinyoung has no argument, no retort, no clever turn of phrase. He needs an argument, needs anything to prove Jaebum wrong, but he’s just left staring in the face of _leader_ Jaebum, imminently _responsible_ Jaebum, his _hyung_ Jaebum, and he doesn’t know how he can convince him that it’s not his job to hold everything up on his shoulders.

 

It occurs to Jinyoung that Jaebum might not be capable of what he’s asking. Whoever opened up his heart yesterday is gone, a one-night-only star replaced by a cold and bitter understudy, hiding behind his walls. Jinyoung wants to peel back the armor, to reach inside and grab onto something raw and real—but Jaebum still isn’t letting him in.

 

And he might not even know how.

 

Jaebum closes his eyes and exhales, drawing Jinyoung’s attention back to him.

 

“You can’t even appreciate what you do have as long as you think there’s something between you and me. I don’t want that for you.”

 

Jinyoung grits his teeth. “And what about you?”  

 

Jaebum stares at him with his dark eyes shining. “I never asked for this.”

 

And with that he stands up, clearly resolved in his own decision, every inch of his posture rigid with determination. He’s going to walk away, forget all of this ever happened, replace the distance between himself and Jinyoung and call it _the right thing to do_. And Jinyoung can’t do a thing to stop him.

 

But he stands up, too. As Jaebum moves to walk away, Jinyoung grabs onto his arm, digging his fingertips into the muscle and holding him there until Jaebum finally looks at him.

 

“You can’t run away from this,” Jinyoung whispers.

 

Jaebum very slowly reaches up and peels Jinyoung’s hand away, interlacing their fingers together and holding on so tight it hurts.

 

“I can’t be what you want,” he says.

 

And then he lets go. Jinyoung teeters on his feet, watching him disappear down the hall. The world spins.

 

 

 

 

Later, when they’re on stage under the hot lights and listening to the roar of the crowd, Jaebum reaches for his hand. It’s instinctual, the way Jinyoung presses their palms together.

 

Jaebum shouts into the microphone, “Thank you Hong Kong!”

 

Jinyoung turns to look at him. He studies Jaebum’s wide smile, his bright eyes, the glitter of celebrity shining off of him. His heart is pounding. Jaebum squeezes his hand, and turns to look at him, offering a small and apologetic smile.

 

Jinyoung realizes: this is about all he’s ever going to get.

  
  
  


 

 

As the weeks pass, Jinyoung goes through the motions of his normal life. He gets to work on time, maintains a positive attitude around the staff, spends long hours in the dance practice rooms. After two weeks of Jinyoung and Jaebum not speaking (or, rather, Jaebum ignoring Jinyoung) the dynamics of Got7 fall back into semi-normalcy. No one asks. Jinyoung is grateful for this.

 

When their schedule is more or less normal, as well, Jinyoung and Jaebum are forced to sit through a long and awkward meeting with upper-level management and PR where they hash out a very detailed set of contingency plans, in the event the photo ever leaks. Jaebum doesn’t look at Jinyoung the whole time. After that, Jinyoung spends nearly a month waking up each morning and looking at his phone, fully expecting to find he’s become Kpop’s first unwillingly outed idol. But days pass in silence, and eventually, he stops looking at the news altogether.

 

He auditions for a movie. It looks promising, but then the team decides to “go in another direction,” some other idol-turned-actor. The rejection registers somewhere in the back of Jinyoung’s mind, but otherwise, he simply moves forward, enduring his life without Wonpil, and without Jaebum—mostly just Jinyoung with his guilt for company, drinking in the middle of the day on his rooftop. Sometimes, he even surprises himself with what a cliche he can become.

 

Eventually, though, he realizes the strongest force in the whole world might be habit. Wonpil’s self-enforced silence only lasts two months; one day a text message pops up on Jinyoung’s screen that reads _You look awful, don’t let yourself get sick in this weather_. Jinyoung pulls up the camera on his phone and discovers that he does, in fact, look awful. His nose is red and he has bags under his eyes and he’s lost weight, outward signs of inward penance.

 

It’s not like he and Wonpil talk often. Their relationship is an empty shell of its former self. But it’s enough for Jinyoung to claw his way back up out of his doom-and-gloom attitude. Hit the gym again. Convince himself that he’s okay.

 

Four months after he made a wreck of his love life, Jinyoung and the rest of the band are in Japan to film a new music video. He and Jaebum take the same room because—habit is a powerful force. And Jinyoung is sick of Yugyeom and Bambam keeping him up half the night watching YouTube videos on their phones.

 

They’re both sitting up in bed that night, a million miles between them, Jaebum with a book and Jinyoung playing Solitaire on his phone. The silence is loud but not unbearable; Jinyoung is used to it now. He can be in the same room as Jaebum without his mind going haywire, now.

 

But when Jaebum speaks, he feels the tides shifting, anyway.

 

“Are you okay?” Jaebum asks.

 

Force of habit. Some things are bound to happen over and over again.

 

“I guess,” Jinyoung answers. “I’d be better if BTS wasn’t supposed to make their next comeback at the same time as us.”

 

Jaebum looks at him. Slowly, a smile spreads across his face. Just like old times. Jinyoung could almost forget everything that happened, if he tried.

 

“You don’t need to compare yourself to BTS.”

 

“Never stopped me before.”

 

Silence fills the room again, but less weighty than before. Jinyoung moves a few cards in his game and tells himself he’s not listening to Jaebum, waiting for any sign of movement.

 

Jaebum clears his throat, and Jinyoung looks up.

 

“Did you, um, listen to the new Day6 song?” Jaebum asks.

 

Jinyoung shakes his head. “I haven’t yet. I texted Wonpil—” His throat closes up for a minute and he feels his ears go red. He hadn’t mentioned to anyone that he and Wonpil were communicating, much less Jaebum. But Jaebum’s expression doesn’t change, so Jinyoung forges ahead. “He said it’s doing well.”

 

Jaebum’s eyebrows lift. “Apparently it’s doing really well.”

 

“Have you heard it?”

 

Jaebum shakes his head. “Not ready for that yet.”

 

Jinyoung takes several deep breaths. He wants to ask, wants to find out what Jaebum is thinking. But it feels good, living in the equilibrium. It feels good, pretending to be fine.

 

Still. He isn’t fine.

 

Jinyoung sets down his phone and turns to face Jaebum. “Are we ever going to talk about what happened?”

 

A long moment passes while Jaebum pretends to stare at his book. This is another hotel room, another patch of sky outside the window, another deadbolt on the door. But Jinyoung doesn’t know which way this is going to go. Destiny, he’s found, is finicky and unreliable, no matter how inevitable the future seems. And no one defies inevitability quite as well as Im Jaebum.

 

Jaebum finally sets down his book. “I don’t know what there is to say.”

 

“There’s a lot to say, you’re just not saying it.”

 

Jaebum blinks, frowns, goes through every movement Jinyoung is so familiar with. He’s uncomfortable, and he doesn’t want to have this conversation. Jinyoung decides he doesn’t care.

 

Jaebum glances at him, then looks away. “I still think we made a mistake, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

Jinyoung sighs. “That’s not really what I’m asking.” He hesitates, then pushes himself to the edge of the bed, fully facing Jaebum. “Why can’t you talk about it?”

 

“Why do you need to?”

 

“Some people prefer not to wallow in denial, you know.”

 

“I’m not wallowing,” Jaebum scowls. Then he turns, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed so that they’re fully facing each other, their posture mirrored. It’s the kind of attention that raises Jinyoung’s pulse, but he tries to ignore it.

 

Jaebum clasps his hands in front of him. “I guess it’s because I _do_ feel like it was a mistake, Jinyoung. And I can’t undo it, or fix it. I can only—I don’t know. Keep moving.”

 

Jinyoung looks at him. Really looks at him, maybe for the first time, because this time, he’s not so angry that what he wants is so far out of reach.

 

“Did you ever think,” Jinyoung asks, “that maybe the wall between you and the people you date has very little to do with fame and everything to do with you?”

 

Jaebum stares hard at the floor. They sit like this, for a while, before he speaks again.

 

“I can’t be what you want, Jinyoung.”

 

Maybe because Jinyoung has been living with nothing, he finds that where an insatiable craving used to be, there’s now only a dull longing.

 

“I’m not asking for that. I’m asking for a lot less than that.”

 

Jinyoung really means it, this time. He doesn’t need all the stars in the universe to align.

 

“Just look at me,” Jinyoung says. “That’s all I’m asking.”

 

Finally, Jaebum looks at him. “You can’t force this to change, Jinyoung.”

 

He doesn’t need all the stars to align or destiny to shine a golden light into Jaebum’s eyes. He just needs this, right now, Jaebum looking at him without looking away. Jinyoung’s problem is that he’s always taken whatever he could get, whatever Jaebum was willing to give. The difference is that now, he’s pretty sure he can be satisfied with so little.

 

“I don’t need that,” Jinyoung says. He pushes off the bed, onto the floor, onto his knees. Puts his hand on Jaebum's leg. “I just need you to look at me.”

 

Maybe things have changed, because Jaebum doesn’t look away.

  
  
  


 

They return to Korea the next day, where they wade through a sea of fans in the Incheon airport and climb into the silence of a waiting van.

 

It’s all like it’s always been. Jaebum sits up front, next to their manager. Jinyoung sits in the back, with all the members between them. Jaebum doesn’t turn around. Jinyoung tells himself he is okay with this.

 

“Don’t forget,” their manager says as they pull out on the highway. “Day6 concert tonight.”

 

The others all nod, but Jinyoung frowns and tilts his head. “Is everyone going?” he calls out.

 

His manager makes eye contact in the mirror. “Do you really not read my texts? Everyone is going.”

 

“Usually labelmate concerts are optional,” Jinyoung says, glancing at Mark to his right. Mark just shrugs.

 

“Not this one,” their manager says.

 

Jackson turns around in front of him. “Dude,” he says. “Haven’t you heard?”

 

Jinyoung shrugs. “Heard what?”

 

Jackson’s smile looks a little too wide, like he can’t believe his ears. “Their single is blowing up the charts. It’s insane.”

 

“How insane?” Jinyoung asks.

 

Bambam turns around. “I mean, it’s not their ‘DNA,’ but it’s their ‘Blood Sweat and Tears,’ for sure.”

 

Up in the front, Jaebum finally turns around, too. “Can we stop describing one group’s success in terms of another group’s success? Please?”

 

The others all look at Jaebum, then look at each other.

 

“It’s not their ‘Nobody,’ but it’s their ‘Tell Me,’” Youngjae says.

 

“It’s not their ‘Fantastic Baby,’ but it’s their ‘Haru Haru.’” Yugyeom grins.

 

“It’s not their ‘Touch My Body,’ but it’s their 'Alone,'” Bambam offers.

 

“Okay, okay, you’re all well-versed in your field of work, great,” Jaebum says, turning back around.

 

But Jinyoung leans back in his seat, ignoring the conversation about Day6’s success as it flows around him. He had seen the text message, in fact, but he’d just assumed it was optional. Wonpil certainly didn’t want him there, and Jinyoung had no intention to be there. Maybe he can feign sick and get out of it. There’s no way he’s going to go.

  
  


 

 

In the end, Jinyoung goes.

 

The venue is larger than he expected, and already filling up with people. He can feel people snapping pictures of him and his band as they walk in and find their reserved seats, everyone else chattering happily. Jinyoung just feels sick to his stomach. Jaebum sits in the row in front of him, next to Chansung and Junho. Nichkhun comes in a few minutes later, smiling widely.

 

Jinyoung goes to pull out his phone, but then he looks down the row and sees all of Twice filing in. And the Stray Kids. And then Jimin and Bernard—Jimin waves, and Jinyoung goes to wave back until he realizes she was waving at Bambam. He's fairly certain her alliance would be with Day6, though he's never asked, so Jinyoung switches to pushing his hair off his forehead and keeps his eyes straight ahead, unwilling to find out if she saw him or not.

 

He sits down. But then stands up again, because Suzy—of all people—is shuffling through the row in front of him, moving to take the seat next to Junho. Jinyoung gapes at her as he bows alongside the others. He hasn’t seen Suzy in—he can’t remember how long. She waves to him, and he waves back, utterly confused.

 

He turns to Jackson and hisses, “Just how big is this song, anyway?”

 

Jackson looks over. “I told you. It’s big.”

 

“Is that why everyone is here?”

 

“No one’s missing out on publicity like this,” Jackson says. Then he nods in the direction of something behind Jinyoung, and he turns to see the Wonder Girls taking seats in front of them, all four of the last line-up and Ahn Sohee, too. It’s a full-on publicity party, now. Jinyoung reels with this information. He doesn’t know what he’s in for.

 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he says to Jackson, and then slips out. There’s a bathroom in a restricted area that he heads for, darting through the packed-out doorways and back into the empty halls, nodding once at a security guard and flashing his VIP badge.

 

Fortunately, the bathroom is empty and quiet. Jinyoung braces himself against the sink, trying to wrap his head around the situation. Somehow he’d missed Day6’s explosion into extreme fame. What else has he missed, living in his own head like this?

 

The door opens, and he sees Jaebum in the mirror. He’s actually surprised, half-wondering if Jaebum has sought him out on purpose, or if this is some cosmic coincidence, designed to remind Jinyoung of every shitty aspect of his life in the timespan of one concert.

 

“Are you jealous?” Jaebum asks.

 

Jinyoung makes eye contact in the mirror and shrugs. “Haven’t heard the song yet.”

 

“Me neither,” Jaebum says. He comes to stand next to Jinyoung, his hands in the pockets of his coat. They look at each other.

 

“I didn’t want to come to this,” Jinyoung says. “Wonpil doesn’t want me here.”

 

Jaebum chews at his lip. Then he puts an arm around Jinyoung’s shoulders, leaning their heads together. He’s giving the brief gift of his presence. Jinyoung turns toward him, anyway, like he’s following a beacon.

 

“It’s just a concert,” Jaebum says, his lips brushing against Jinyoung’s neck. “This isn’t about us. Don’t spiral.”

 

Then he steps back. The skin on Jinyoung’s neck burns.

 

It’s not enough. But he’ll take it.

 

Jinyoung follows him back through the halls, into the concert, where the fans are already screaming at the tops of their lungs. After a few minutes, the lights go down, and the bass thrums low.

 

It’s a concert unlike any Day6 has done before. Jinyoung marvels at the money that’s been poured into it, the detailed preparations for every miniscule piece. He watches Wonpil take the stage, almost glowing. He smiles into the crowd like a real fucking rock star. Jinyoung doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel.

 

But the music sweeps him up. He can’t deny it or fight it: the experience is transcendent. His heart is bursting when Sungjin’s raspy voice moves through one of their old break-up songs, and Jinyoung can almost forget that Sungjin hasn’t spoken to him or Jaebum in months. He can forget that Jae is ridiculous and that Brian basically ruined his life. He laughs with delight along with the rest of the crowd when Dowoon sings.

 

And Wonpil is magnetic, superhuman. Jinyoung can't stop watching him.

 

The new song, the successful song, starts up about halfway through the concert. Jinyoung only hears the first few bars before the crowd starts roaring. Even his labelmates kick into high gear, raising their hands, singing along with the words. Jinyoung tries to listen, but he’s drowning in the crowd, trying to kick his way to the surface.

 

He manages to tune back in, just in time for the pre-chorus. He’s listening to Jae sing, and he realizes: this isn’t just a hit. This is the kind of song Kpop always wants to manufacture, the elusive dream of everyone but a select few lucky groups. He’s listening to the anthem of the year.

 

The beat drops for the chorus. Jinyoung’s eyes move across the stage, compelled to find Wonpil. When he does, he swears Wonpil is looking directly at him.

 

“ _You’re in love with somebody else,_ ” Wonpil belts.

 

The crowd explodes. Jinyoung’s heart stops.

 

In front of him, Jaebum turns around. They catch each other’s eyes, and Jinyoung knows that his face must match Jaebum’s exactly: stricken with guilt.

 

This song is about them.

 

In unison, they turn to look back at Wonpil for the last line of the chorus.

 

“ _And we’ll do this over and over and over again_ ,” Wonpil sings.

 

The crowd screams out the next words, but Jinyoung can’t hear them. He’s looking at Wonpil, looking at Jaebum, wondering if he’s right. Maybe they will go on like this, spinning around each other, locked in impossibilities and unfulfilled desires.

 

The one thing Jinyoung knows for sure, now: whatever happens next, he's probably going to screw it up. 

 

Never stopped him before.

 

 

 

 

_end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I CANNOT believe this is finished. I need to give a huge shoutout to my long-suffering friend R, who kindly read this for me and helped me make it better. Wouldn't be finished without you!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Bonus Ending:**
> 
>  
> 
> "So our next song is a cover," Sungjin says to the crowd. Brian, pouring water in his mouth, looks over at him and grins. "You guys ready?" Sungjin asks.
> 
> "Lezzgeddit!" Jae yells.
> 
> Jinyoung rolls his eyes. Wonpil steps up to the microphone.
> 
>  _"If it's for you, I can act like I'm happy even when I'm sad,"_ he sings, the first line of BTS's "Fake Love." The crowd goes wild.
> 
> Jinyoung shouts, "Oh COME ON."


End file.
